Tied
by breezered
Summary: Whether it was by Fate's little red string, their own pinkies, or just plain dumb luck, Santana and Brittany have always been tied. Tied together, to the same people and the same places. Of course, no one expected that red string to turn into an unbreakable chain. Or maybe they did. Brittana. From the beginning.
1. Prologue

You remember living in Lima Heights as a child. It was you, your _mami_ and _papi_, your _abuela_, _tío_ Alessandro and his third wife Maria, and your cousin Juan.

Your first memories are of your _tío_ and his third wife yelling throughout the house in rapid, angry Spanish while your _mami_ read you to sleep. Your _papi _was often at the hospital, finishing his residency. Your _abuela_ would be in the kitchen cooking up a storm, while Juan sat in front of the television smoking. On weekends Juan would go out and come back reeking of what you later identify as cheap alcohol and marijuana. _Papi _would stay home on Sundays and the entire brood would go to church in the mornings. You were forced to wear an ugly old blue smock. The material was scratchy against your skin.

The church was small and the incense filled it to the ceiling with a smoky haze. The Father's voice drifted through the room, filling your ears with words of _Jésus_ and his teachings. The other families that attended that church were the Rodriguez's, the Valdez's, and the Bautista's. A few drifters would join occasionally, but those were the family names you remembered. Your entire family would be at church, the _tías _and _tíos_ you barely knew, the numerous cousins that seemed to barely recognise your existence. There was a boy your age, José Bautista, and he always wore the same old stained white button up shirt and worn out pair of black slacks.

When you were eight, Juan came home bleeding from a gun wound in his shoulder. You remember your _abuela_ yelling at him for trailing blood on her carpet, your mother scrambling for your father's med kit. Your _tío_ and his fourth wife Paloma were busy upstairs, their moans audible from the family room below. A tall man with a beard was standing in the doorway, the outline of a handgun visible under the thin material of the wife beater he wore, tucked into his waistband. He regarded the whole thing with cold eyes and his mouth stuck in an indifferent line. You heard a loud scream as your _mami_ drenched Juan's wound in medicinal alcohol. She shushed him.

Abuela just shook her head at her foolish _nieto_. You curled up in an old armchair and watched the entire scene unfold before you. Juan stopped screaming, and his eyes slipped closed, your _mami_ sighing and collapsing onto the couch. She muttered a prayer, and you felt your eyelids grow heavy. Your _tío_'s screams of pleasure rang through the heavy air. _Abuela _made tea, and you fell asleep.

Strong arms were wrapped around you when you woke up, the familiar smell of your _papi_'s cologne and antiseptic hospital smell smothered you as he carried you up to your bed. He laid you down on the lumpy mattress with the gentlest hands you remember feeling. He kissed your forehead, his stubble scratching your skin. You cracked your eyes open and were met with a loving smile.

Juan died two years later in a gunfight.

Your _papi _and _mami _moved your little family of three to Lima Heights Adjacent a few months after that episode. You were nervous - you were almost nine and would be starting at a new school. From what you'd seen of Lima Heights Adjacent, each house had it's own lawn and at least one and a half bathrooms. You had your own bedroom, and a bed that didn't stick into your back every time you shifted a little too much. It had taken your parents ages to save up for this house. Your _papi_ had just gotten himself a fellowship at Lima General, and your _mami _had scored a job as a secretary at a dental office. They enrolled you in ballet classes, and took you clothes shopping for the new school year.

Your first day of fourth grade was terrifying. There were kids running through the halls and hugging, boys making farting noises at girls as they walked by, girls giggling with their friends. Your primary language at home had been Spanish with your Abuela and your _papi_, your _mami _being the only one who bothered to teach you English outside of school. Flurries of English passed through your ears and you clutched your books to your chest along with your red pencil case. You'd never had one before, but your _mami_ had insisted that no expense be spared. She'd argued with your _papi _about it, until he gave in, letting the two of you go shopping. You were wearing a relatively nice dress, it was dark purple. The material was soft and it didn't scratch your skin.

You found your classroom and your desk that had your name written out neatly on a piece of laminated red paper. You're the first kid in the class, and the teacher is a pretty young woman with kind eyes and a nice smile. She greets you and asks you your name.

"Santana Lopez, ma'am," you answer her timidly. She shakes your offered hand with an amused smile.

"Nice to meet you Santana Lopez, I'm Miss Sanders," she introduces herself. "Is this your first year at Lima Elementary?" You nod and when she asks you where you came from, you reply hesitantly, "Jasper Avenue Public School." She seems to see that as an acceptable answer. Her smile widens and she notices your meagre collection of notebooks. Your _mami_ had restricted you to two, one blue and one red. She tells you to take a seat, and she gives you three more notebooks. They're all the same pale yellow colour, but they're all twice as big as your own and you thank her quietly. You watch as she changes some nametags around, and watch as she replaces Finn Hudson from beside you with Brittany S. Pierce.

"I think Brittany will be a more suitable match for you, Santana," Miss Sanders says with another kind smile. You smile and busy yourself with straightening out the notebooks on your desk. Suddenly a loud ringing sounds, making you jump in your seat. Even more sudden is the rush of kids who come rushing into the classroom. They're talking and laughing, their shoes squeaking on the linoleum tile floor. You watch with awe as they all find their seats quickly and sit down, still chatting. A tall blonde girl practically collapses into the seat next to yours. She plops her backpack on her desk, and something heavy clunks in the bottom (you'd later learn it was her Disney princess lunchbox). The girl cringes at the sound and turns to you. Her smile is huge. It practically stretches from ear to ear, and you find your own lips twitching into a small smile.

"Hi!" She exclaims. "I'm Brittany!" Her voice is dripping with energy and enthusiasm, and it must be contagious, because you sit up a little straighter and smile at her.

"My name is Santana," you reply. Brittany's eyes widen.

"That is a super cool name," she gushes, "are you a princess?" You're shocked and shake your head. "Well, you should be," Brittany continues. "Santana is such a princess name. Princess Santana from a magical kingdom far, far away."

"Actually, I'm just from Lima Heights," you shrug. Brittany rolls her eyes at you.

"Jeez, Santana, use your imagination," Brittany chastises you, although her smile never falters. You blush and tuck your chin to your chest.

"Sorry," you say quietly. Brittany frowns at you and nudges you with her shoulder.

"Don't apologise, Santana," she says with a small laugh, "it just means we'll have to work on it." She smiles her friendly smile and then offers you a page of unicorn stickers. "Friends?" You take the stickers with a hesitant hand and smile.

"Friends."

You spend the portion of class before first recess getting to know your classmates. There's Finn Hudson, a tall, dopey boy with an awful shaggy haircut. His best friend Noah Puckerman has an even dumber haircut. It looks like someone taped road kill to his head. There's Mike Chang, a skinny little Asian boy, Kurt Hummel who wears a fabulous bowtie, and Matt Rutherford who just squeaks out his name. Brittany introduces herself as 'firm unicorn enthusiast and middle child' while you just say your name and that you can speak Spanish when Miss Sanders prompts you to say something about yourself. There's also Mercedes Jones, and this extremely annoying Jewish girl Rachel Berry who makes you want to light yourself on fire. She talks about herself for almost five whole minutes before Miss Sanders politely asks her to sit down so the rest of the class can have a chance to talk. David Karofsky strikes you as a bit of a doofus, and that was where you stopped listening to the introductions.

At the end of the day you're feeling overwhelmed and exhausted. School in the Heights was much less intense, the kids there never listened to the teachers and the teachers didn't seem to care. You start walking home, and you nearly jump out of your skin when someone taps your shoulder. It's Brittany, and she smiles at you. You smile back.

"Are you walking home?" She asks you. You nod. "Wanna walk together? We just have to wait for my sisters. Riley is in senior kindergarten, and Audrey is in seventh grade so she has to walk us home even though I'm not gonna get lost. I got lost once, actually. That's why my mom makes me wait for Audrey. My oldest sister, Kennedy, is in ninth grade. My baby sister is only two, so she doesn't even go to school." You blink with wide eyes at her after her spiel. Brittany doesn't seem to notice your stunned silence, and keeps talking. "My dad is a plant scientist. There's a more specific word for it, but I always get words mixed up and I'm not sure if it's bomb-nest or potnist. My mom is an herbalist. What about you?"

You shrug. It's not that you're embarrassed by any part of your family, but Brittany's family sounds really cool. "I don't have any siblings," you start, "I used to live with my _abuela_, _t__í__o_, and cousin, but we moved because Lima Heights was scary. My _papi _is a doctor and my _mami_ is a secretary." You stop there, and notice Brittany's brow furrowed in what you think is confusion.

"What's an..an…a-well-a?" She asks you.

"Oh," you say. You realise now that not everybody speaks Spanish, and you feel stupid, knowing you should have known that before. "Sorry, that was dumb. _Abuela _is Spanish for grandmother." Brittany takes your hand and looks you in the eye.

"That wasn't dumb," she says seriously. You're taken aback by how serious she sounds. "It's actually super cool." She smiles. You smile.

You get walked to your door by Brittany and her sisters. Audrey seems dreamy, like she's not really there with the rest of you. Riley is a ball of energy, running ahead of you and waiting at each corner. Brittany talks aimlessly the whole time, and all you have to do is listen. Somehow you end up with her pinky wrapped around yours. Your linked fingers swing between your bodies. You hold you books with your other hand. When Brittany finds out you're left handed she gushes about how "super cool" it is. When you reach your house, you're in stitches over the story Brittany told you about her cat Charity and the vacuum cleaner.

"Do you want to come over?" Brittany asks you, sounding shy for the first time since you met her. You hesitate. Your mom might say yes, but you barely know Brittany. Even though you feel like you've been given her life story on the walk home, you've just met her. She doesn't feel like a stranger anymore, she never felt like a stranger.

"I'll ask my _mami_, if you can wait here for a few minutes?" You ask. Brittany agrees eagerly. You run inside and find your _mami_ at the kitchen table with some paperwork. "_Mami_! I made a friend and she wants me to go to her house now and I really, really, really want to go please!" You rush the words out in one breath and wrap your arms around your _mami_. She laughs at your enthusiasm.

"If you promise to call me when you get there and give me the address, I'll pick you up at seven. But only if you are invited to stay for dinner – don't go inviting yourself. And make sure you say thank you and please, and please _mija_, if they feed you something you don't like –"

"Eat it anyways," you finish for her, grinning at her toothily. She laughs again and kisses your cheek.

"Have fun,_ chica_," she says. You run outside and screech to a halt beside Brittany, who is inspecting your flowerbeds.

"I can come over!" You exclaim. You realise how loud you were and squeeze your lips together. Brittany Jumps up and lifts her hand for a high five. You laugh and slap your hand to hers. She links your pinkies again and the two of you follow Audrey and Riley. Brittany's house is a fifteen-minute walk from yours, and it's beautiful. Those fifteen minutes took you into a completely different neighbourhood. The houses are bigger, the gardens more extravagant, and the lawns greener. Brittany's house is beautiful with its sky-blue siding and front porch with a swing seat. Their garage is done to match, and you wonder if they have a fancy car. Their entrance hallway has a staircase and bright yellow walls. Through one doorway is a kitchen, and through another you can see a television. Brittany shows you where to kick off your shoes, and leads you into the kitchen. A blonde lady is at the counter cutting up fruit. She sees you and smiles. She has the same friendly smile that Brittany does.

"Hi mommy," Brittany says, going over and hugging her mother. Riley is already wrapped around one of her legs, and Audrey just waves from where she's going up the stairs.

"Hey B," her mom greets her, kissing the top of her head. "Who did you bring home? It's rude to not introduce your friends." Brittany gasps and rushes back to your side, her face apologetic.

"This is Santana," she introduces you, "she speaks Spanish and is left-handed." Brittany smiles, proud of her little biography on you. "Santana, this is my mom."

"It's very nice to meet you, Mrs. Pierce," you say, scuffing your toes on the light hardwood floor.

"It's lovely to meet you too, Santana," she says warmly. "Brittany, you two can take a plate of this up to your room if you want." She hands her daughter a plate of assorted fruit slices. Brittany cheers, "Super duper cool! Come on, San!" You follow her upstairs and smile.

As far as friends go, you think Brittany Pierce makes a pretty good one so far.

* * *

**A/N: My most recent obsession. Brittana. It's contagious. I don't know how it happened, but it seems to be sticking around. **

**This is a sort of preview. I hope you all liked it, please let me know if you did! It would mean a lot! There's much more where this came from.**

**And I do not own anything related to Glee. Or Glee. You've just been disclaimed.**


	2. Chapter I

_Friendship isn't about who you've known the longest._

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It takes two weeks until you and Brittany are inseparable. You alternate going to each other's houses after school. You teach Brittany how to politely greet your parents in Spanish. She fumbles through it and calls both of them _señor_, but she smiles her friendly smile and your parents laugh it off. The two of you spend fourth grade learning the ropes of what Brittany dubbed, "best friend-dom." Before Christmas time comes, you know Brittany's favourite animal, colour, type of pizza, Disney movie, and Disney song, how she likes to braid your hair because it looks like how Pocahontas' braid would look. You leant about how she takes ballet, jazz, modern, tap, and hip hop. There are so many other things you learn, even about yourself. You figure out that English is so much easier than Spanish, and that you've inherited your _abuela_'s sharp sense of wit.

You have your first sleepover ever the first night of Christmas vacation. Your _mami _fusses over you and your _papi_ buys you a new onesie for the special occasion - he says it's an early Christmas present. It's red with small penguins on it, in various poses to make them look like they're dancing. Brittany gushes over it - she calls it "superly duperly cool" twelve times in the first hour. She's got her own onesie (it was hers that made you want one) that's pink with grey kittens. The two of you build a blanket fort in the Pierce's basement, and you spend an hour watching Brittany make shadow animals against the walls and tell stories with them. She makes each animal talk with a different voice, and she has you laughing until your sides ache. Riley comes down a few times, her thumb in her mouth, and sits beside you for a bit, watching her sister with wide eyes.

When it's time for bed, the two of you crawl under Brittany's quilt and stay up giggling over absolutely nothing. You fight to keep your eyes open, but sleep takes both of you before you can really unleash what you think of Noah Puckerman's stupid haircut.

You wake up snuggled up to Brittany's back, your nose pressed into the fleece material of her onesie. You roll away and swing your legs out of bed, tiptoeing quietly out to the hall and down the stairs. The clock on the oven says it's barely past six in the morning, so you aren't sure how you can possibly be awake this early. You rub your eyes blearily and run smack into someone. It turns out to be Kennedy, Brittany's oldest sister.

She's pretty. She's got long blonde hair, and she's got a slight frame. Her eyes aren't blue like Brittany's, they're brown like Mrs. Pierce's, and she has a smile like Brittany's that seems to take over her entire face. Her hands fall to your small shoulders and she smiles at you.

"Hey Santana," she says quietly, "Why are you up so early?" You blush ferociously and shrug. "Was B kicking you? She's always been a violent sleeper."

"I just woke up," you mumble. Kennedy nods like she knows what you're talking about, and she invites you to come join her in watching early morning TV. The two of you sit on the couch and as you watch a marathon of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, your eyelids droop and your head falls to the side and rests on Kennedy's arm. She smells like fresh laundry and lilacs.

When you wake up, you're back in Brittany's bed, and you wonder if that was all a dream. Brittany is still sleeping next to you, her mouth open and her limbs spread out so she looks like a starfish. You stifle a laugh and poke her in the side.

"Brittany, wake up," you whisper. She grunts and cracks one of her eyes open. You smile innocently, hoping that she isn't mad that you woke her up.

You end up learning that Brittany is a morning person, and it takes her all of thirty seconds before she's fully energised and bouncing down the stairs, her hand in yours, dragging you into the kitchen where Lily is in her high chair eating Cheerios. Mr. Pierce is making chocolate chip pancakes and you pour Brittany and yourself each a glass of cranberry juice. As you're devouring your second pancake, Kennedy comes into the kitchen, her bright red Cheerios hoodie catching your eye. She winks at you and kisses her father on his cheek, and ruffles Brittany's hair.

She's the coolest older sister you've ever met.

Audrey drifts in, her nose in a book, followed by Riley, her thumb in her mouth. The kitchen is busy and bustling and you watch with wide eyes filled with wonder as the Pierce family all sing along to the radio, in varying degrees of enthusiasm. Brittany wiggles around in her seat and mouths the words quietly, more focused on how to move her body. Kennedy makes a show of herself by singing into a wooden spoon like it's a microphone. Audrey hums along through her mouthfuls of pancake from behind her book. Riley and Lily make random noises. You laugh when Kennedy drags Brittany up from her seat and they dance around the kitchen hand-in-hand.

You think of breakfast with your family - quiet, polite conversation. Your _papi_'s tame kisses that he places on your _mami_'s cheek and the top of your head. The sound of the newspaper crinkling as your _mami _turns the pages.

When Brittany spins over to you and pulls you out of your seat and maneuvers your arms so you can't do anything but dance, you decide you like this a little more.

Christmas is spent at your old house that you shared with your _abuela_. Juan is still there, but your _tío_ Alessandro moved out to live with his new girlfriend Gloria. Your _abuela_ fusses over how skinny you are, and talks to you in Spanish. No one has bothered to do that with you in so long you're surprised that you can keep up with her. Your _tía_ Ramona is there with her husband Carlos, and their three children Tulla, Bernardo, and Venturo. Venturo is sixteen and he's got tattoos all up and down his arms. Bernardo is thirteen, and he completely ignores you. Tulla is eighteen, and she tries to get you to tell her who you have a crush on, but you tell her instead that boys are gross. She laughs and says something to Venturo who laughs as well, putting a backwards peace sign to his lips and sticking his tongue out. You have no idea what they're doing or saying, but it feels like they're being mean on purpose so you get up and leave, not before turning to Tulla and calling her something you heard your _tío_ Alessandro say to his fifth wife a lot.

"_Puta_."

She laughs even harder and you storm out to the kitchen. Your _mami_ notices your trembling lower lip and she lets you have a piece of chocolate.

Christmas dinner passes with tense conversation. The food is undeniably delicious, and afterwards your cousin Juan takes you out back and teaches you how to open beer bottles. The smell of his cigarettes reminds you of all the time you spent watching football games with him as he smoked. He almost offers you one, but then laughs and shakes his head, remembering you're only nine. He takes out a deck of cards, and you spend an hour learning how to shuffle like a proper card dealer. By the time your _mami_ comes out to collect you, you're shivering and your fingers are freezing, but your smile is huge and genuine. Juan apologises to your _mami_, but he shoots you a conspiratorial wink.

On New Year's Eve, you and your _mami_ make your way to the Pierce's house for the celebrations. You and Brittany hug and she brings you up to her room to show you the bedazzler she got for Christmas. She asks you where your _papi_ is.

"He took a shift at the hospital," you say with a shrug. It was a nice enough surprise that he took Christmas off, so you weren't all that shocked when he told you he wouldn't be joining the New Year's Eve festivities. Brittany pouts. The two of you return downstairs, where the Changs are just arriving. Brittany wraps Mike up in a hug, and you feel a little put out. But he smiles shyly at the both of you. He's a friend of Brittany through the many dance classes they've taken together, and by default that makes him your friend too. Mr. and Mrs. Chang are very nice and they bring in a platter of cookies. Mike compliments you and Brittany on your dresses and you say you like his tie. He's dressed like a small businessman, a black suit with a white shirt and a red and blue striped tie. Brittany and Mike take off to the living room where there's music playing. You follow slowly, and the doorbell rings again. You look around but no one else is nearby, so you answer the door.

It's a tall young man, with dark hair and blue eyes. He's got a nice black shirt and blue jeans. His smile is friendly and charming.

"Hi," he says, "I'm here to pick Kennedy up?" You nod, and turn to the stairs. Kennedy is rushing down them, in a sparkling green cocktail dress. She's got a shining necklace and matching earrings.

"Hi Oliver," she says breathless, "just give me a minute, 'kay? Santana, let him in, close the door before mom and dad get mad about the cold air."

You step aside and Oliver steps inside.

Kennedy rushes to the living room and you watch her hug her family and politely say goodnight and "happy New Year!" to everyone else. Brittany yells after her, "KENNEDY AND OLIVER SITTING IN A TREE!"

You look at the young man and raise an eyebrow at the blush covering his cheeks.

"Are you Kennedy's boyfriend?" You blurt out. You hadn't meant to say anything, but your curiosity got the better of you.

Oliver smiles a soft smile. "I hope I can be that lucky. She's something else." You don't really get what 'something else' means but you nod, because you figure that's a good thing.

"Sorry about that," Kennedy says as she appears beside you. "Ready?" You look between them and you like how both of their eyes are soft and shy, like they aren't really sure if they're doing it right.

"Let's go," Oliver says, and he offers Kennedy his hand. She takes it, blushing. Just before she steps outside, Kennedy turns to you and drops Oliver's hand.

She wraps you in a bear hug. "Happy New Year, Santana," she says, and when she pulls back you grin and say, "Ditto."

You close the door behind them and hurry to the living room. Your _mami_ is talking with Mrs. Pierce and Mrs. Chang, the diamond earrings your _papi_ bought her twinkling when she turns her head and waves you over.

You approach, and she pulls you into a hug. You reciprocate and she kisses your cheek.

"_Mami_," you whine, "_usted está siendo vergonzoso__!_" She laughs with her newfound friends, and you stick your tongue out at her and go join Brittany and Mike. They're doing a sort of ballroom dance that only requires two people, so you run up behind Riley and pick her up around the waist. She giggles and squeals in delight, and you spin her around. You set her down and she takes your hands, and the two of you dance like maniacs. Audrey watches the two of you from where she's sitting in an armchair with a new book. It looks really heavy.

Soon enough Riley gets bored of dancing and runs off to the kitchen. You catch your breath, and just as you're about to sit down, Brittany spins over to you. She stops in front of you and holds up a deck of cards.

"Wanna see if we can get Audrey to play with us?" She says. "Mike knows how to play Cheat." You nod and the two of you sidle up to Audrey's chair.

"Audrey," you say, "wanna be super cool and play Cheat with us?" You and Brittany give her your practiced matching innocent smiles. She raises an eyebrow.

"Every time I play Cheat with you two, you change the rules," she says loftily. Brittany shrugs.

"It's called Cheat," she says by way of explanation. Audrey looks like she's about to set her sister straight, but must decide it isn't worth it, and she sets her book down with a sigh.

Brittany lets out a whoop, and she grabs Mike by the hand. The four of you head down to the basement. The TV is showing Times Square in New York City. You pause and stare at the screen. The number of people you see is amazing. The noise, the giant screens, it all looks absolutely magical. You snap out of your daze and sit beside Brittany on the floor.

She deals the cards.

You all play for two hours, until Audrey says she's bored and leaves.

Brittany pouts. "We can't ask Riley because she can't sit still for longer than two minutes," she says.

"And Lily always tries to eat the cards," you say. Mike laughs and pulls at his tie. You watch him talk to Brittany. As far as boys go, Mike Change seems pretty not gross, you decide.

When eleven-thirty comes around, the three of you have made your way back upstairs. The adults are all sitting around the living room, with Audrey. Riley and Lily must have gone to bed, so the music has been turned down. Brittany tugs you by the hand to an empty chair, where the two of you curl up together. Brittany yawns and drops her was to your shoulder.

"You have to stay awake until midnight," you remind her, poking her in her side.

"Tell me a story," she prompts you.

"Okay," you agree, and Mike sits at the foot of your chair. "Once upon a time, there was a girl name Brittany. She owned a unicorn sanctuary." You know exactly what to say, exactly what type of story will make Brittany smile. "And she never turned away a unicorn in need. So, one day, a boy named Mike brought her a unicorn that had sprained its ankle because it had danced too long. You see, Mike owned a unicorn dance school." At this, Mike gives you a funny look and you give him a look that says 'deal with it.'

"So, Brittany took the unicorn in and wrapped its ankle. She gave it a bed and fed it lots of sparkles. And one day, this unicorn started dancing again. It danced ballet. When Brittany decided the unicorn was healthy enough to go back to Mike's studio and keep dancing, the unicorn was so thankful to Brittany that it gave her a special unicorn blessing. It gave Brittany awesome dancing powers. So now Brittany could dance for herself."

Brittany hugs you as best she can. "That was a super duper cool story." Mike nods.

"Pretty good," he agrees.

"But why weren't you in the story?" Brittany asks, pouting up at you. You shrug.

"You'll find out in the sequel," you tell her, grinning. Brittany grins back.

"Kids, it's almost midnight!" Mr. Pierce calls to you. He's got a tray of glasses filled with bubbly liquid. The three of you make your way over to where all the grown ups (and Audrey) are sitting. Mr. Pierce hands out the glasses. You, Mike, and Brittany don't get one, but your _mami _reassures the three of you that it's pretty gross stuff.

Mike sits with his mom as Mrs. Pierce cranks the radio, and as you shift on your feet, Brittany grabs your wrist and says, "Come downstairs." Your heart does a little skip of excitement. The two of you scurry downstairs, and Brittany pulls you into the couch in front of the TV. You watch as New York counts down, and you start counting, too. Brittany smiles her huge smile and holds your hand as you both scream, "Happy New Year!" You watch with wide eyes as the ball drops in Times Square, and all those people cheer and shout and kiss. Brittany hugs you hard, her arms wrapping around your shoulders, and yours go around her ribs. She smells like clean laundry and something fruity. Her hair tickles your nose.

When she pulls away you feel a little breathless.

She grins and nods at the stairs. "I bet all the adults are kissing," she says, sticking her tongue out.

"Why?" You ask. She gives you a look that you can only classify as 'come on, you don't know this?'

"You kiss someone at New Year's, the person you wanna spend the next year with," she explains, rocking back and forth on the balls of her feet. You nod. "I bet Kennedy kissed Oliver," she says, nudging you in the ribs.

"He seemed nice," you say. She nods. "Do your parents kiss every New Year?"

It's Brittany's turn to nod, "Yeah, they always want to be together. It's gross but Kennedy always thinks it's cute." You smile as she sticks her tongue out, pretending to gag.

"_Mi papi_ always works," you mumble.

"I bet your mommy and poppy are both imagining that they're together," Brittany says. It's exactly what you need to hear. You even crack a smile at her pronunciations.

You yawn, the excitement of a New Year causing you to quickly grow tired. "Have you ever kissed anyone?" You ask Brittany.

She shakes her head, "No. I haven't. Have you?"

"When I was five, José Bautista kissed me when our _abuelas_ were having tea," you say with a shrug and another yawn. "I can't remember much of it, though."

"Then it doesn't count," Brittany decides for you. "Kissing when you're five isn't kissing. It's just little kids being weird." You laugh at her.

"Okay, Smarty Pants, when does kissing start counting?"

Brittany pushes your shoulder gently. "It only starts counting when you're old enough to remember it," she informs you. "And when boys stop being gross."

"I think boys are always gonna be gross, Britt," you mumble. She giggles.

"That's what my dad told Kennedy when she told us about Oliver," she says, covering up a yawn. "But she's out with him, so I guess they stop being gross at some point."

You wrinkle your nose, and rest your head on her shoulder. "Kissing looks gross," you mumble, stifling a yawn. Brittany shrugs, and you feel her shoulder lift up your head jerkily, and drop it down again.

"I guess it isn't if people do it so much," she reasons.

"I guess not."

The two of you fall asleep on the Pierce's couch.

* * *

**A/N: Voila. Thanks to everyone who favourited and followed, and to my one reviewer, you guys all kick butt! Hopefully I can swindle some more reviews out of you this time around, maybe? **

**Thank you for reading! Next chapter is undergoing editing as I post this. **

**-breezered**


	3. Chapter II

_Whenever a thing is done for the first time, it releases a little demon  
- Emily Dickinson_

* * *

Lima District Middle School is big. The building, the people, everything. Lima Elementary seems like a shack in comparison. You and Brittany have found your first period class together, and you grip the straps of your red backpack. Brittany's backpack is the blue counterpart to yours, and she mimics your position. You toss your hair back and smile reassuringly at her.

"Don't worry, Britt," you say, extending your pinky to her, "this year is going to be awesome."

Brittany nods and links your pinkies. The two of you walk in and find a pair of seats at desks in the middle of the room - far enough from the front that you don't look like nerds, and far enough from the back that you don't look like Lima Losers. You have this year all planned out. Seventh grade won't get the better of you. You've heard how all of a sudden there's a hierarchy, how the cool kids are on sports teams or cheerleading, how people get sorted into categories like Nerd, Jock, Losers, etc. and you don't want to be a loser. Your family recently moved to a much larger house a few blocks from Dudley road, where all the big fancy houses are. You're farther away from Brittany, but you've got a queen sized bed and your own bathroom. You've also started expanding your wardrobe and you feel pretty in the short skirt you're wearing, your shaved legs make you feel like a woman. Brittany's rocking a pair of equally short denim shorts and a (kind of ridiculous, but you won't tell her) loose tank top with a cat on it. As you're taking a seat, Noah Puckerman sets himself down at the desk behind you and whistles at you. You grin to yourself, then wipe the smile and turn around with the look you've been practicing all summer.

You call it your bitch face.

"What do you want, Noah," you ask him coolly. He gives you what you guess is meant to be a charming smile, and you roll your eyes.

"It's Puck now, babe," he says with a wink.

"Call me that again and I'll personally see to it that you can never have children," you sneer. But you can tell Puck's been brushing up on staying cool during middle school - although you don't know why he kept his stupid haircut.

You spent your summer watching reality TV shows and reading cosmetics magazines, gossip magazines, any magazine that was meant for someone older than you. You feel confident, you know what to do.

He looks stunned, so you turn around and take your seat. You and Brittany share grins. The grins quickly turn to groans when Rachel Berry comes through the door, all school-girl eager, clutching her binder to her chest and taking a seat at the very front.

Maybe this year will be a little harder than you anticipated.

With the end of the day come cheerleading tryouts. Brittany's a shoe-in, her years of dancing show and raise her above everyone else. You've been taking hip hop for over a year now, and you've taken a few other dance classes here and there, plus you've kind of got a natural way with moving to a beat.

You both a get a surprise when you show up on the field, however. Kennedy is standing with the coach, along with two other girls in matching uniforms by her side. She's got her hair pulled in a high-pony, and she's surveying you and your ragtag group of classmates with a look you've never seen her wear before - it feels cold. Brittany waves at her, and Kennedy just gives her a little smile.

"Alright ladies, bring it in," the coach calls to you, and all of you walk towards her cautiously. "Today we've got some very special guests - this is Kennedy Pierce, captain of the William McKinley High School Cheerios, and her two teammates Claire Danforth and Zoey Young." Kennedy finally breaks her stoney face and gives the group of girls before her a warmer smile.

"We're here to help, girls," she says, her brown eyes scanning back and forth. "Don't be afraid to ask us anything - we'll do our best to answer." Beside you, Brittany beams and starts to clap, but you still her hands. Some short girl too your right shoots Brittany a dirty look , so you fix her with your bitch face. She sees you and quickly looks down. You smirk to yourself.

Cheerleading tryouts are hard. You wish you'd taken more than that two week gymnastics camp last summer. By the end of it you're out of breath and lying in the grass next to Brittany.

"Good work today," Coach says to all of you, "the list will be posted tomorrow outside the gymnasium." You smile. You know that you and Brit definitely stood out, and you liked how Kennedy gave you a subtle thumbs up after you had to do a solo routine in front of the coach.

Brittany lets out a huff. "Phew, I'm glad that's over," she says, grinning at you. You can only nod through your heavy breathing. You vow to yourself that you'll start doing regular exercise if you make the squad.

Kennedy appears, her face above yours, haloed by the sun. "Do you two want a ride home?" You both nod, and struggle to your feet. "Get used to the pain, if you're hoping to be Cheerios one day you'll be out through a lot worse," she says, letting you each wrap an arm around her for support.

You make the squad, and so does Brittany. Your days become filled with regulating your food so you cut back on unnecessary calories, and you start going for daily jogs. You come up with a fitness routine that you do before bed, and by eighth grade you're strong and in extremely good condition. You admire your body in your mirror, how your stomach is flat and your hips aren't pear-shaped. You've also got a nice set of breasts growing in, and you like how your body is developing. You feel mature.

* * *

Christmas of eighth grade brings with it your first party with boys and girls. Mrs. Pierce drops you off at Hannah Jonson's house, and reminds you to call her if you need anything. You both nod, and eagerly make your way to the front door. You ring the doorbell and are let inside by Hannah's mom. She's young, and you can see that she's the type of mom who wouldn't care what her kids got up to. She tells you to go upstairs, that's where everyone is.

You and Brittany must have been the last ones to arrive. Puck, Finn, and Mike are sitting on the couch, while Matt Rutherford talks to Frankie Harris and Julia Crawford. Hannah is sitting with Emily George, Paul Wolfe, Danielle and Laura White, Nick Burton, and David Karofsky. You note with satisfaction that it's all eighth graders and there are no losers. Everyone is either on a sports team or a cheerleader. Hannah spots you and Brittany, and waves. You smile but instead make your way to where Puck is. Yo smile when he shoves Finn over to make room for you and Britt, and you sit down beside him, placing your hand on his arm. You can feel that he's been working out, his arms don't feel like strings of uncooked spaghetti anymore.

"Evening, Santana," he greets you with a smile.

"Puck," you acknowledge him. Brittany is already chatting away happily with Mike about last night's dance class. Puck reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a flask.

"Tequila," he says, "want some?"

You hesitate. You've never had alcohol before, except the wine you sip at church. But you can't seem lame, so you nod and take the flask. You open it and it smells nasty, but you take a small sip. Puck grins at you and you hide how gross you think the tequila is by smiling back. He puts a hand on your jean covered thigh and you don't snap at him. He's popular, and he's not ugly.

A few minutes later, Hannah calls out, "Time to play spin the bottle!" Everyone rushes over and forms a circle. You strategically position yourself across from Puck. Brittany sits beside you and you wipe away some chocolate she has on the corner of her mouth with your thumb. She thanks you and you shrug it off. Hannah takes the first spin and it lands on Frankie. They lean across the circle and their lips barely brush, but everyone catcalls them anyway. Frankie then kisses Laura, who kisses Mike. Mike spins the bottle and it lands between you and Britt, but you insist that it's her, so she and Mike connect their lips. It lasts longer than anyone else's has, and when they pull apart, Brittany smiles shyly at Mike.

Brittany spins the bottle, and you watch it go around and around and around until it lands on you. Everyone gasps. You fidget uncomfortably in your seat.

"Dude, I totally saw a porno like this once," Puck says to Finn. You look to Hannah.

"You two have to kiss," she says with a wicked grin. Puck leans forward eagerly, and you feel uncomfortable with everyone's eyes on you. Brittany turns to you and smiles. She nods, and you lean forward, touching your lips tentatively.

It feels like you've been struck by lightning.

You pull away quickly, and Brittany grins at you. You clear your throat and spin the bottle immediately. It stops on Puck, and you grin as he leans forward. You hold his chin delicately and tilt your head, pressing your lips to his. His hand cups the back of your jaw. His lips aren't soft like Brittany's, but they move against yours with purpose and determination. When you break apart, everyone catcalls and wolf whistles, and Finn slaps Puck on the back.

"New game!" Hannah says, her lips twisted into mischievous smile. "Truth or Dare!" Brittany fist pumps, and you laugh at her enthusiasm. "Puck, truth or dare?" Hannah asks.

"Dare," Puck says, "the Puckasaurus isn't going to wuss out!"

"I dare you to spend seven minutes in heaven with Santana!" Hannah says with delight. You feel your stomach twist nervously, but you force yourself to make an indifferent face. Brittany looks at you with something akin to concern, but Puck stands up and offers you his hand. You take it and get to your feet. He guides you to the bathroom, and switches on the lights, closing the door.

He looks at you and smiles nervously. "We uh, don't have to do anything," he says, all the bravado gone from his voice.

"You don't want to kiss me?" You ask, even though you aren't really too keen on having the first time you make out with someone be in Hannah Jonson's bathroom.

Puck laughs. "No, I really would like to kiss you again, but uh...not here." You raise an eyebrow. "Could I take you out?" He asks, his eyes darting around you. Your heart is racing and you blush.

"Sure," you say. He smiles his first real smile of the night. "And maybe we should make it look like we made out, so they don't think we wussed out." He agrees, and you mess up your hair and tug at your clothes, while he does the same. When Hannah opens the door for you, you both saunter out and you resume your seats. Brittany shoots you another concerned look, but you ignore it.

"Alright, my turn," Puck says, clapping his hands together. "Brittany, truth or dare."

Brittany grins and fist pumps at being chosen. "Dare!" Puck nods and reaches into his pocket. He pulls out a cigarette.

"I dare you to smoke this entire thing," he says. Brittany blanches a little. But she nods and takes the smoke from Puck.

"I'm going with her," you say. You're pretty sure Britt doesn't even know how to light a cigarette. "Y'know, to make sure she does it." Puck nods in approval and tosses you a lighter. You link pinkies with Brittany and the two of you follow Hannah's directions to a balcony. You shut the door behind you.

"I don't want to smoke." Brittany looks at you with her saddest puppy eyes. You nod and take the cigarette from her shaking hands and place it between your own lips. You hold the lighter up to the end and flick it on, breathing in so the flame catches. You've never smoked before, but you used to watch your cousin Juan light up so many times that you kind of have the general idea of why it's supposed to look like.

Your first inhale sends you into a fit of coughing. Brittany pats you on the back, and you clench your eyes.

"Okay, I'm gonna blow the smoke on you so it smells like you were the one who smoked it," you tell her. She closes her eyes and holds her breath as you do your best to take a second drag and blow the smoke out without bursting out into another coughing fit. You repeat this until the cigarette is almost done.

"Should you blow some in my mouth?" Brittany asks. You choke on your inhale.

"What the hell?" You ask through your coughing.

Brittany shrugs. "So my breath smells like it." It makes sense, so you nod and recover from your coughing. You take a drag and lean towards Brittany. She opens her mouth slightly and you match it, carefully pressing your lips together and blowing the smoke into her mouth. You can feel her holding back a cough, and once all the smoke has left your lungs you pull back from Brittany's lips.

(You attribute the tingling to the cigarette.)

She coughs, and you rub her back soothingly. "Ready, Britt?" You ask her, and she nods. You stamp out the cigarette butt and link pinkies with your best friend. When you rejoin the party, they've been continuing on with the game, and Matt Rutherford is wearing nothing but a sheet. Brittany bursts out laughing and so do you, unsure of why this is so funny. But Brittany's always been a better judge of what's funny, so you follow her lead.

Audrey picks you up, and she wrinkles her nose when you both get in the car. "You're lucky mom and dad are asleep," she tells you haughtily, "you smell like drag queens."

"We didn't drag any members of a royal family," Brittany defends, scrunching her brow in confusion. You open your mouth to explain, but instead of words, a cough comes out. Audrey sighs from the front seat and throws a water bottle back. You chug half of it and offer the rest to Brittany.

You take a shower when you get to Brittany's house, and you rinse your mouth out with Listerine. It burns so intensely, but it's a good burn and it washes the taste of cigarette from your tongue. Once you've finished in the bathroom, you pull on a T-shirt and some underwear, crawling into Brittany's bed. She emerges from the other bathroom and pulls on unicorn themed boxer shorts and a hand-me-down Cheerios shirt. She jumps on the bed, landing next to you and causing you to shake with the bed frame. She wiggles under the covers and you catch a whiff of her fruity shampoo and minty breath as she exhales heavily.

"Tonight was fun," she says quietly, conscious of her family sleeping a few doors down and up the hall. "I liked that bottle game."

You shrug. "It was okay."

"Well, I liked it," Brittany says, brushing off your indifference. "Kissing is fun, isn't it? Even though no one knew what they were really doing. I wish we'd played longer though, so I could have kissed more people."

"Britt, that makes you sound slutty," you say, rolling onto your side so you're facing her.

"What's that mean?"

"It means you will kiss anyone," you explain. At least, that's what you think it means.

"Well, maybe I will," she says. "I kissed you, and I kissed Mike. I would totally kiss Emily, she's got pretty eyes. And Matt, he's funny."

"You want to kiss a girl?" You ask incredulously.

"Totally," Brittany answers, "I kissed you. You're a girl. I liked it just as much as kissing Mike, why would kissing Emily be any different?"

"But you aren't gay, Britt," you whisper. She flips into her side to face you.

"Who says I have to be gay to like kissing girls?" She asks, her eyes narrowing. "And why do you make being gay sound so bad? Love is love, Santana."

It's the first time ever that Brittany's even shown the slightest inclination to being mad at you. You shrink in on yourself a little bit. You settle for shrugging your shoulders. She huffs and turns onto her other side. You swallow, your throat and chest feeling tight. You don't want Brittany to be mad at you, not about something stupid like this. You reach out and tap her on the back.

"What?" She asks, her voice sounding heavy.

You lick your lips and take a deep breath. "I kind of...um, I thought kissing you was...was pretty good." She looks back at you over her shoulder.

"You did?"

You nod.

"But isn't that _gay_?" She almost spits, and it's the most venom you've ever heard in Brittany's voice.

"No," you shake your head. "Look, I'm sorry, okay? I didn't...I wasn't trying to be mean. I didn't think it was that big of a deal."

Brittany sighs heavily. But she turns around and faces you anyways. "Did you really make out with Puck?" She grins her wily grin at you and just like that, all is forgiven.

* * *

You finish middle school on top. Everyone knows who you are, and by default, who Brittany is. Of course, people would know Brittany anyways because she's the friendliest person in the entire town. But they know you as SantanaandBrittany or BrittanyandSantana. You went on a few dates with Puck over the past few months, and he's unofficially your boyfriend. For graduation, your and Brittany's families go out for dinner. Your _papi_ is on call and has to leave just after your drinks come, but you've grown used to it just being you and your _mami_ at these types of things. You're eating at a new restaurant, Breadstix. You order some Fettuccini Alfredo, but you've eaten so many breadsticks that when it comes, you can barely eat any of your pasta. Brittany and Riley have a sword fight with some breadsticks. Kennedy was back from her first year at Ohio State, and she is sitting beside you, telling you all sorts of interesting college stories. You listen, totally captivated. Audrey is talking to your _mami_ about the looming stock crisis, and Mr. and Mrs. Pierce are struggling to get Lily to eat her spaghetti.

Your _papi_'s empty seat lingers in your peripheral vision.

* * *

**A/N: Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed it, and thank you for the follows, favourites, and review.**

**Any feedback you have to make this story better is greatly appreciated!**

**-breezered**


	4. Chapter III

_Good habits formed at youth make all the difference.  
-Aristotle_

* * *

The summer before freshman year is busy. Your _mami_ takes it upon herself to teach you the ways of _extensive_ hair removal and hair extensions. You've never had that close of a personal relationship with your mom - hell, when you got your period you just dealt with it and that was that. She insists though, so you concede.

You spend a lot of time with Puck during the day. He takes you out and you do a lot together. One day he takes you to laser tag and although you'll never admit it, it was the most adrenaline inducing experience you've had.

Of course, any time not spent being taken to salons with your _mami_ and to various assorted activities with Puck is spent with Brittany. You've both signed up for Cheerios Boot Camp the last week of August, and with a little pouting and begging, you've convinced Kennedy to be your personal trainer.

They pick you up at 7 AM in Mr. Pierce's Subaru. It's been altered to run on some sort of vegetable gas, so the engine has a very distinct sound. You're decked out in a tank top and your new pair of booty shorts, along with a new sports bra and new sneakers. Your papi payed for all of it, and you aren't complaining, even if he's spent more than three quarters of the summer so far at the hospital. Brittany waves to you from the front seat and you run down your front steps and hop in the backseat. Kennedy smiles at you in the rear view mirror. She takes you out to the park. There's a big soccer field, and it's devoid of any other people. She puts you through intense legs workouts, ab workouts, arm workouts, cardio training, strength, flexibility. One particularly hot morning, Kennedy takes off her usual hoodie and reveals her toned abs and sports bra clad chest. You're jumping rope and as soon as you see her you trip over the rope and land on your knees. Brittany stops and rushes to your side, concerned. She's got sweat dripping down the side of her neck a shout eyes follow it down, over her collarbone, and into the hidden space beneath her shirt. Your cheeks heat up and you scramble to your feet.

"Sorry," you say, waving away Brittany's concerned hands that are pushing hair off your sweaty forehead, "it must just be the heat. I'm fine." Kennedy rolls her eyes and tosses you a water bottle.

"Just because Sue Sylvester is a nazi, doesn't mean I am," she says, "so drink up. Being dehydrated or overheated is doing way more harm than good." You nod and chug the water, saving some to pour on your head. It runs down your face and soaks the front of your top. The cool liquid feels like heaven on your heated skin. Brittany looks at you with something in her eyes that you can't quite place, but you figure she wishes she had poured water on herself, too. You grab another water bottle and open it, walking to stand beside your blonde best friend. She smiles at you, blissfully unaware, and you smile back. Then you quickly reach up and pour the water in Brittany. She shrieks in surprise and you laugh delightedly. Brittany grabs you around the waist and digs her fingers into your sides, effectively tickling you and making you squirm, your laughter quickly turning hysterical and causing tears to stream down your face. Finally Brittany lets up, and by then you're on the ground. She rolls off of you and you gasp for air.

"Okay, Thing One and Thing Two, I'm ridiculously hot," Kennedy says while shaking her head at the two of you, "I'm redirecting this little party to the pool." Brittany cheers and springs up from the grass. You catch your breath as quickly as you can and stagger to your feet, still breathing heavily.

Kennedy stops by your house so you can change into your bathing suit (your first bikini, it's red and black striped) and then by the Pierce's house. You wait in the air conditioned front hall, glad for the light dress you threw on over top of your swim suit. Brittany comes bouncing down the stairs, all pale skin and long legs in a neon green bikini. Kennedy follows a little while after, her body covered by some denim shorts and an Ohio State T-shirt, Lily on her hip. The youngest Pierce is seven now, but she's tiny for her age and her sisters insist on babying her. She acts the part well, but the one time you babysat her she wanted to do everything herself and told you not to baby her. Even as Kennedy descends the stairs with her on her hip, you can see through her smile and practically smell the frustration.

Brittany links your pinkies and the four of you hop back in the car and Kennedy drives you all to the pool. It's an outdoor pool, and it's a hot day, so there are a whole bunch of people there. You even spot Kurt Hummel and Mercedes Jones lying on lounge chairs tanning. Brittany smiles and makes you pull off your sundress, and then pulls you to the diving board. You watch as she dazzles the pool-goers with a backflip. All you do is a spin as you jump in, but Brittany applauds you and whoops. You swim around, splashing each other. Brittany sticks her tongue out at you and submerges herself. She swims to the deep end and you follow her, a pale blur moving through the water.

The lifeguard blows his whistle three times - everyone out of the pool. Everyone groans and grudgingly climbs out, all the swimmers becoming one unit of frustration, united against the tyrannical lifeguard forcing you out of the cool water and into the summer heat. You sit with Lily and watch the pool cleaning guys do their job. You squint at one of them. The smallest one.

It's the hair that gives him away. Your boyfriend is cleaning the public pool. He looks up from where he's carefully measuring some chemical and spots you. He smiles and nods at you, and you give him a sly smile and a finger wave. You watch his movements carefully, until Brittany comes into your field of view. You watch her instead, as she shows Kennedy some dance move. You watch her body twist and pop. Your gaze flits back to Puck, and you try to focus on how his newly formed biceps contract as he sweeps a net through the water. You see Brittany pulling her wet hair into a loose ponytail, her arms tensing. Puck's back flexes as he picks up his gear, while Brittany's legs flex as she makes her way gracefully over to where you're lounging in your chair. She sits by your feet, fully blocking your view of Puck. Her smile is radiant.

Like fucking sunshine.

"Having fun?" She asks. You nod and smile. She grins a little wider and tickles the bottom of your feet. You squirm and she stops. "Sorry."

"No biggie."

"Hello ladies," Puck says, coming from your left. He reaches your side and leans down, kissing you quickly. You take his hand with yours.

"Hi Puck," Brittany says cheerfully. "I didn't know you were a chemist." You cover up a laugh. Puck looks at Brittany like she's crazy, but you see a glint in her eyes that tells you she knows exactly what she's doing.

"Yeah, sure Britt," he says awkwardly, raising an eyebrow over the top of his ridiculous sunglasses. "Listen, I came over here to invite you two fine females to a little party I'm having at my place tonight. There will be booze and friends, and since you're my girlfriend and my girl's best friend, I'll provide it all for you free of charge." You look at Brittany. She's worrying her bottom lip between her teeth.

"We can sleep at my place," you tell her, "my _papi_ is on the night shift and my _mami_ is visiting family, remember?" You smile at her, hoping you seem confident. She still looks unsure but she nods and Puck squeezes your hand.

"Awesome," he says, "come over around 9. See you then." He kisses you again and saunters away. You roll your eyes as he turns around, looks at you over the top of his sunglasses and winks.

"What a tool," you laugh affectionately. Brittany nods her agreement. "You sure about the party, Britt? I won't force you to go."

"Is Puck making you go?" She asks quietly. You frown at her and she mumbles, "Sorry."

"Look, I'm going and you can either stay home or come with me tonight and have fun," you say sharply, "I don't care. But it'll be our first real party and I...I guess I thought it would be cool if we went together." You avoid looking her in the eye. She pokes you in the side.

"Stop sulking," she says, "I'll come to the party." You smile and tuck some loose hairs behind your ear.

Puck gives you both red plastic cups full of what he calls 'Puck's Get Fucked' which isn't all that reassuring but everyone seems to be drinking something like it. You sip carefully, and it doesn't taste as bad as you thought it would. There's loud music blasting from his stereo, and your peers, and some people you assume must be some of Puck's friends that are already in high school, have filled the house. Brittany is clinging to your arm, looking around nervously. Puck's got his arm over your shoulders and he smells like alcohol and marijuana.

"Look, ladies, chug those and trust me," he says, "everything will be a lot easier once those," he gestures to your drinks, "are gone." You exchange looks with Brittany. She's worrying her lip between her teeth again, but you smile at her and lift your cup.

"Cheers, Britt," you say, tapping your cups together and lifting yours to your lips. You close your eyes and chug, chug, chug. Brittany must have followed your lead, evaluate once you lower your empty cup and open your eyes, her face swims before yours and she lets out a tiny burp. You laugh at that, louder than you mean to. Brittany grins and grabs your hand, dragging you over to where people are dancing. She leans in and whispers in your ear.

"Dance with me."

There's a tug in your abdomen when her lips brush the shell of your ear. She raises her hands above her head and starts swinging her hips to the heavy bass beat of the music. You start moving your own body and soon enough the two of you have a rhythm going. You don't touch each other, you just dance and it's amazing how fun it is. You're having fun.

Puck comes by with a plate of full shot glasses. "Tequila!" He yells over the music. You find it funny, so you laugh. Brittany laughs. You take a shot, throwing it back and almost choke on the taste. Brittany takes two. You take another two, and Brittany takes another two. Puck takes the last one. He presses up against your back, grabbing your hips and grinding into your bum. You reach behind you and wrap your arms around his neck, moving your body up, down, and across his. You look at Brittany. She's got her hands running up and down her torso to her hair. Her shirt rides up with the movement of her hands, exposing her stomach, a glimpse of her baby blue bra. Your breath catches in your throat. Some tall guy comes up behind her and spins her around. She smiles at him and you watch her thread her fingers through his hair and reach up to kiss him. His hands travel down to her bum, squeezing. Puck's lips are on your neck. You feel something press into your lower back and you grin. You've barely been here for twenty minutes, and dancing for five with Puck. You turn in his arms and grab the front of his shirt.

"Take me to your room," you instruct him over the music. He grins and grabs your hand, and the two of you lock yourselves in his bedroom. You reach behind you and undo the zipper on the back of your tight dress. Puck pulls his shirt over his head and shimmies out of his pants. You stare at his crotch, and steel yourself. You drop your dress and watch Puck's eyes run over your body.

It hurts.

It's fast.

You don't think you actually reached the point of orgasm, but as soon as Puck came he rolled over and passed out. You lie there. Breathing. Puck doesn't wake up. You get out of the bed and redress yourself. You fix your hair in the mirror and touch up your make up. You stagger back down the stairs.

You run into Finn Hudson in the kitchen. He smiles dorkily at you, and you give him your best 'fuck off' face. He scurries away, his beanpole frame disappearing in the throng of people. You spot a bottle of clear liquid and take a sip. It burns unpleasantly in your throat.

"Santana!" Mike Chang rushes up to you. "It's Brittany." He's out of breath, and as soon as you hear her name you follow him without hesitation. You hurry him, your patience wearing thin so you don't think twice about shoving some girl out of your way.

(The bitch tries to shove you back, but you stomp on her toe with your heel.)

You see Brittany. She's dancing on a table, a group if guys surrounding it. She's not wearing her shirt, and the button of her tiny denim shorts is undone. You push your way through the crowd and grab Brittany's arm. She stops dancing and looks down at you. It takes her a moment, but once she recognises you, her face splits into a huge smile and she somehow pulls you up into the table with her. She pulls you right against her body and places your arms on her shoulders, her hands on your hips. She locks your hips together and moves.

It feels like your body is on fire.

Every inch of you that can touch Brittany is touching Brittany. Your cheeks are pressed together and her thigh slips between your legs.

A siren pulls you out of your trance. The music cuts off. Everyone panics and starts grabbing their stuff, so you don't wait to grab Brittany's wrist and jump off the table, dragging her behind you, out Noah's back door and around the side of the house. The cool night air shocks some sobriety into your system and you start running. Brittany follows you, her longer legs helping her keep up even though you're sure she's had much more to drink than you have.

You run until the sirens have faded. You stop and lean over, hands on your knees, the two of you breathing heavily. Brittany stumbles by you and you hear her retch into a bush. You stagger to her side and gather her hair away from her face. She vomits a little more, then she stands up. You grab some leaves off a tree and help her wipe her face. You must still be moderately intoxicated because there's no way you'd get this close to vomit if you weren't, even if it is your best friend's. As Brittany cleans herself up, you look around trying to figure out where you are.

You freeze as soon as you realise. Somehow you managed to end up in the middle of Lima Heights. You recognise Lucia Rodriguez's house, and by the flickering light of the street lamp you can read the street name.

"Fuck me," you whisper. "Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck." You've never said the F word that many times in a row before, and it does surprisingly help youcalm down.

It doesn't make the fact that you're in the middle of Lima's shittiest neighbourhood in a slutty dress and you've got your wasted drunk friend with you who isn't wearing a shirt any less terrifying. Your _abuela_ always warned you about the men.

'When you are no longer such a garbage-face, Santana, you must be wary of men who will take advantage of you. Trust your _abuela_. Never walk these streets at night unless you wish to be accosted.'

"Brittany, we need to go home right now," you say, walking in the direction of your neighbourhood.

Brittany laughs and pirouettes. "But Santanaaa, we're having so much fun!" She giggles and twirls, kissing your cheek as she passes by you. You take a deep breath and take hold of her biceps.

(They're thin but strong and you can feel the muscles beneath the skin, skin that is so, so soft you want to touch it all the time.)

"Brittany, come on!" You whisper-yell. You tug her arm and force her to walk reluctantly beside you. You can hear voices in the distance, and a car drives by, scaring the living shit out of you.

"That was a fun party," she says blissfully, "I think I kissed, like, five different people. And I danced for so long and wow, it was so fun, huh San?" You look over at her and can't help but let out an affectionate laugh at the wistful look on her face.

"That's cool, Britt, but we really need to get out of here," you reason with her. She nods and hums, so you take that as consent to continue dragging her through the streets of Lima Heights. Your heart pounds the entire way, and you don't let up your pace until you reach Lima Heights Adjacent. You pass by Lima Elementary, by your old house, and you reach Brittany's house. She looks at you, confused.

"I thought we were spending tonight at your house," she says, her brow furrows like it does when she's confused about something and can't figure out why it's happening. She looks like that a lot during English class, and every time you have Home Ec she has that exact look plastered on her face.

You let go of her arm and walk over to the potted geranium the Pierce's keep their spare key under. You fumble in the dark but your fingers grasp the cool metal. Brittany follows you as you walk to the back door and unlock it, entering the house as quietly as possible. The both of you take off your shoes, and you have to shush Brittany when she starts trying to tell you about how Chris Kenworth did this really cool thing with his tongue. You help her up the stairs, avoiding the creaky spots and hoping to God that the cat isn't sleeping on the steps like she sometimes does.

You make it to Brittany's room undetected. You rifle through her drawers and give her her usual tank top to sleep in. You think about how she was grinding on people and throw her a new pair of underwear as well. You grab an oversized T-shirt for yourself and strip out of your dress. You feel eyes on you, and you turn around. Brittany is shamelessly staring at you, her lips slightly parted and her eyes wide. You feel your face heat up and pull the shirt on as quickly as possible. Your bra is unsnapped and discarded into the same pile on a chair as your dress. Brittany has taken off her shorts and you quickly close your eyes as she reaches to take her panties off. You listen to her stumbling around the room, her legs probably tangled in her clean underwear, and when she finally stops thumping around you decide its safe to open your eyes.

(You'll start figuring out that, around Britt, it's never safe to open your eyes for too long.)

She's climbing into her bed, and you slowly do the same. It's a motion you've completed dozens of times over the past years, but tonight the air feels heavy with something that hasn't been there before. You wonder if it's because recently every time you look at your best friend you feel a rush of heat spread through you, settling deep in your abdomen, making your head swim. You rest your head on the pillow, the smell of Brittany's shampoo overwhelming your senses. Brittany sighs and shuffles over to you, nuzzling her head into the place where your neck meets your shoulder. Her hot breath hits your skin softly, her nose brushes against it as she shifts to get comfortable. Her arm drapes over your waist, her legs tangling with yours.

If nothing is new, then why does everything feel so foreign? Blaming it on the alcohol seems logical, so you attribute the way your heart speeds up when Brittany's hand grabs the material of your shirt to the tequila.

"I love you, Santana," she whispers into your skin. You swallow.

"Yeah, me too," you mumble back, your tongue heavy and your throat thick. Brittany shifts and you feel the pressure of her lips on the base of your throat. You hold your breath. She kisses you once, twice, three more times, moving up your neck with each gentle press of her lips. She kisses your jaw, the corner of your mouth, and you hold silent and still. Everything about this feels wrong, but you can't stop the niggling thought in the back of your mind that says it also feels immensely right, like nothing you do or say could stop the inevitable.

She kisses your lips.

You see fireworks on the back of your eyelids.

You feel something so much bigger than yourself, or you and Brittany, or even this entire town, stir inside you.

Her lips coax yours into movement.

Your lips won't let her stop.

Her hand wanders up and down your side, her hair tickles your face as it hangs down.

You stifle a noise in your throat as she nips at your bottom lip, flashes her tongue out, pulls and tugs, then releases, steering you along.

She hums contentedly as she pulls away. Through the darkness you can make out her smile, and it's still like fucking sunshine.

"G'night, Santana," she sighs. Her head rests beside yours, so close that in the morning when you wake up you'll be able to count her eyelashes in the sunlight that will stream through her window.

But for now, you lie perfectly still with your eyes closed, hoping that the desperate helplessness you feel will go away before you fall asleep.

(It won't.)

(It'll be there for years.)

* * *

The white moving truck roars as it drive by your house. It's mid-August and all you want is to get your tan perfected before Cheerios Boot Camp, but it always seems that whenever you find a free moment, someone shows up at your house. Brittany hates tanning - she thinks it's a waste of a day. She's active, she wants to be out doing things. Biking, running, playing a sport, dancing, anything but lying around in the sun. But Brittany has gone to her uncle's farm in the middle-of-nowhere somewhere in Montana to visit family for a week, and you plan on using this free time to your advantage. You need to get your tan on, and you want to relax, but there's a lot of activity going on up on Dudley road. Someone is either moving in or moving out.

The sun is beating down on you intensely, and you can practically hear your _abuela _shrieking at you about skin cancer. Your parents are both at work, and it's that that is saving you from an earful about personal health and shit like that.

Your new cellphone goes off beside you. You grin, knowing it's from Brittany. She's the only person you like well enough who has a cellphone and is young enough to understand what texting is other than Puck, and he's supposed to be working so you doubt it's him.

_From: BrittBritt (1:33 PM)_

_Hey S finly rchd uncs house they have new litter of kittens yay! wat r u up 2? xox_

You smile at Brittany's shorthand, knowing full well she's happy to not have to spell everything perfectly and have no one question her about it.

_To: BrittBritt (1:34 PM)_

_Cute, r u gonna steal 1? Tanning, i think someone is moving in on dudley rd. Might check it out. : )_

Your phone dings again. It's Puck.

_From: Puck (1:34 PM)_

_Yo bb got a j from friend. wanna do it? m also horny 4 u bb, ur rents home?_

You roll your eyes. Typical Puck. Sex and drugs.

_To: Puck (1:35 PM)_

_U r on, parents out until 5. Bring the j and pick up M&Ms on ur way._

Puck arrives in record time, holding a plastic bag that seems to be full of different M&M packs. You kiss him forcefully at the door, quickly helping him discard his shirt and throwing it to the side. After the first time you two did it, you discovered that you enjoyed yourself a lot more if you were in control. Puck made you swear to never tell people that you were always on top, but of course Brittany knows and you're pretty sure Brittany told Finn.

He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a fat joint. You grin and take it from him.

"Licked?" You ask.

"Waited for you to do it," he says with a wink. You laugh and run your tongue slowly up and down the seam a few times. It's so worth it to see Puck's pupils dilate. You're glad that you never bother changing out of your bikini, and you know it will make everything go your way.

You fuck quickly before you leave the house to go smoke. There's a ravine behind the park down Dudley road that no one ever uses except to do things like this, so you change into your shortest denim shorts and a low cut tank top. Puck drapes his arm across your shoulders and together you walk leisurely to the ravine.

You check your phone.

_From: BrittBritt (1:44 PM)_

_Im ttly bringin home a kitn, they r so fluffy and adorbz._

You smile and quickly reply, hoping Puck won't let you walk into a pole or oncoming traffic as you text.

_To: BrittBritt_

_Too cool, B. bring home a lazy 1 so it won't be annoying as shit_

You stick your phone in your pocket as you turn onto Dudley road. You spot the moving truck parked outside one of the largest and most extravagant houses on the street. It's three stories high and you're pretty sure you could fit yours and Brittany's houses inside it. There's a blonde man chatting with one of the movers, and off to the left by a tall oak tree is a blonde girl. She looks like she's probably your age, and she's beautiful.

(You keep Puck's eyes averted.)

When you reach the ravine you take the spliff from where it was tucked behind Puck's ear and hold it daintily between your lips. Puck pulls out his lighter and holds the flame to the end, and you inhale deeply. You hold in the lungful of smoke and count to five. Exhale slowly, take joint back from Puck, and repeat. Puck shows off by blowing smoke rings, and you lie back in the grass. The branches of the trees block out the sun, and they look like the limbs of the monsters Lily swears hide under her bed, and when the occasional breeze passes by they sway gently. Puck lets you finish the joint, and your head is on cloud nine.

Puck lies down beside you and sighs. "I really wanna have a threesome."

You roll your eyes but then the idea takes root in your mind. "Who with?" You ask. "Gay Hummel and Finncapable?"

He knows you're teasing but he stills scowls and defends, "I'm not a fucking faggot, Lopez," and you cringe at his harsh words. "I'd wanna fuck two girls and shit. You, obviously, and like…fuck, I don't know. Not Berry, she'd probably talk the whole time."

"She looks like a biter," you pitch in. He laughs, the sound of it grating your ears.

"Well, Clara Plyth isn't too nasty," he keeps talking, "but she's got that weird tooth thing. Maybe Julia."

Clara has braces, which isn't really a 'weird tooth thing but you let it go. "Gross, I'd never even think of doing any shit with Julia," you gag, "she's so grunge. It's like she's never heard of a goddamn shower before."

Puck hums an agreement. There's silence for a little while longer, and then he speaks again. "Brittany. I'd totally fuck Brittany and you together, you guys have got that telepathy mind-reading thing going on, I bet you'd be a sexy tag team. Plus she's so hot, if I weren't dating you I'd be all over that."

Even in your state of 'feel like you're sitting on clouds', you clench your fists. "Don't fucking talk about her that way, you shithead," you spit, "and learn some fucking respect." You sit up and get to your feet, walking away from him as quickly as possible. Your stomach churns violently as you scramble out of the ravine. Hearing him talk about Brittany like that makes you feel so many things that you don't know which is strongest - hatred, jealousy, anger, protectiveness, disgust, desire. You're no stranger to seeing Brittany in various states of undress, she's your best friend and sometimes you change in front of each other so you aren't oblivious. You know Brittany's hot.

But it's just that she's so much more than hot.

Puck doesn't know about that birthmark on her lower back that looks like South Korea, or the way Brittany makes these ridiculously adorable snuffling noises when she sleeps. Or how when you were eleven Brittany found a dead baby bird and held a funeral service for it, and she gave a speech and something about it had almost reduced you to tears. He has no idea how fucking brilliant she is with numbers, how she can look at a math problem and solve it without even thinking. He doesn't know anything about how fucking _perfect_ she looks when she dances - on stage, in her room in her underwear, with you, by herself when she thinks no one is watching. It has nothing to do with being hot. It's like watching something your _abuela_'s God put on earth for that sole purpose.

Because Brittany wasn't born to be an object ogled by disgusting horny boys. She was born to be beautiful through and through.

You storm away and leave Puck behind you, calling after you, "Babe! Come on, babe!" You ignore him.

Your phone chimes.

_From: BrittBritt (2:35 PM)_

_unc has new neighbour. suc he ttly is flirtn wit me gonna get my game face on. luv u how is tanning?_

You reply as you walk.

_To: BrittBritt (2:37 PM)_

_mk sure u don't catch anything B, its hicksville. not tanning anymore Puck came over but he's bein a dbag._

As you hit send, you run into someone. You both tumble to the ground.

"Watch yourself!" You exclaim, frustrated. You brush off your ass and look at the offending person. It's the girl from Dudley road.

"I wasn't the one texting and walking," she replies with an air of superiority. You narrow your eyes.

"So you should have been the one avoiding me," you retort sharply. "Now, if you'll excuse me, Barbie." You push by her and continue your angry march home. Your dad's car is in the driveway, shining in the sun. You curse quietly and hope you don't smell.

He's sitting in the lounge with your cousin Tulla. You've always hated the bitch, but she's crying on the couch across from your father's imposing armchair, her hands covering her face, so you feel kind of bad. But it's a fleeting feeling. On the floor between them is a baby boy. He must be more than a year old, because he's sitting up and he doesn't just look like a potato with eyes. You walk in slowly and stand in the doorway. You clear your throat and they both look at you.

"Santana," your father says in his calm, even voice, "Tulla will be with us for a while. As well as her…son." You don't miss how his brow dips in disapproval at those words. "She'll stay in the guest room. Go make the bed up and dust, _por favor_." You nod stiffly, and you make brief eye contact with Tulla. She's staring at the ground, her eyes puffy and rimmed red with something akin to humiliation. You're sure your father gave her a hard time.

You grab some clean sheets from the linen closet and make up the bed in the guest room. You forgo the dusting and instead open the window. It smells musty and the only way that will change is with some fresh air.

Tulla walks in as you walk out. Her son isn't with her, and you don't say anything to her. You can hear your parents fighting downstairs in hushed tones. It's no surprise that your mother isn't thrilled about having a baby in the house as well as your cousin. Tulla was a miserable teenager and you bet she's also a miserable grown adult. You descend the stairs, the marijuana that's still in your system making you hungry. All you want is a pop tart, but as soon as your _mami _spots you, she hands you the baby.

"_Él es llamado Dante," _she tells you as you fit him to your chest. You nod. The poor kid has a trashy Latino name, perfect for gang members. You figure that's where he'll probably end up anyways, with a mother like Tulla.

"Why is she here?" You ask. Your father sighs and squeezes the bridge of his nose with his index and thumb.

(He'll probably say you're too young to understand.)

"Tulla has…fallen on hard times," he beings to explain. "She needs a home. We can provide her with one until she gets back on her feet. _Familia es primer, mija_."

You hold back a scoff and pull a strand of your hair from Dante's fist. He grabs at your face and you decide right there that this kid is nothing but trouble.

"So what, she's just going to live with us forever?" You ask incredulously. Your father sighs and walks away. You look to your _mami_. She closes her eyes and then opens them slowly. She looks at you and looks at Dante.

"You heard your father, Santana."

(But he didn't hear you.)

(You can't remember the last time he did.)

* * *

**A/N: Oof. Long chapter, but I like it. Kind of. I like it how much any author can like any of their stuff I guess, ha. **

**Tell me what you think! Too long? Too weird? Thanks to my reviewers and favouriters and followers! **

**-breezered**


	5. Chapter IV

_Being left behind seems to be what I'm best at._

* * *

It's a weight to your left that wakes you up. Then the long body that presses against your side and the gentle hand that slides under the covers slowly and rests on your back. You smell the familiar shampoo, and hear the expected voice.

"Santanaaaaaa," she hums into your ear, her breath tickling the short hairs at the back of your neck. "Santana, wake up, I'm back and you have to get up because your mom is pissed that you're still sleeping and somehow there's a baby in your house that needs to be looked after."

You crack your eyes open and look at your best friend. It's only been a little over a week since you've seen her, but she's changed. Her face is tanned, a few freckles apparent at the close range. She's cut her hair - side bangs now sweep across her forehead. You pout and squirm closer to her. With great effort you lift your arm and drape it over her waist, the best hug you can give at the moment.

'Missed you, Britt," you mumble through your sleepy haze. She smiles and kisses you cheek.

"I missed you too, San," she says, "but mama L looked pissed so I really think we should get up now." She rolls away from you and the whimper that escapes your mouth is embarrassing. Brittany laughs at you softly, then grabs your covers and rips them away. You feel exposed in your sports bra and underwear, so you curl up in a ball. Brittany jumps onto the bed and basically bounces you off your bed. You get to your feet and look at her.

You didn't expect to see her with wandering eyes, and her bottom lip between her teeth. Heat spreads through your entire body.

You quickly throw on a shirt and a pair of what you think might be Pucks' boxers but you really don't have time to care about that, you just need Brittany to stop looking at you like that before you lose all control and just jump on her and ravage her with your lips and -

You shake your head and pinch yourself.

Brittany leads you down to the kitchen, where Tulla and your mother are sitting at the kitchen table. Dante is in the highchair that your father had rushed out to get the day after Tulla arrived. He's poking at some cheerios.

"Santana, it's almost ten o'clock!" Your mother exclaims when she sees you. "You knew you were meant to take care of Dante, why must you be such a _perezosa_?" You scowl at her and open the fridge. You grab the orange juice and pour yourself a glass. Brittany sits down at the island counter and you silently sit beside her.

"Why do you have to be such a _dictadora_?" You mumble in retaliation. She sighs, knowing that you're hopeless. Dante starts making those weird noises babies make when they're trying to communicate.

Brittany goes over and coos over him. She's such a good person that even _babies_ fall in love with her at first sight. She asks if she can hold him, and his stupid whore of a mother says yes. Your heart squeezes at the sight of Brittany holding a baby.

(You ignore it.)

(It's just because it's a lot of adorable in one shot.)

"Okay _niñas, _Tulla and I are going out today," your mother says as she starts gathering up her things. "Santana, your father should be home by dinner time - if he isn't, there's plenty of food you can make for yourself." She whirls by and places a swift kiss on the back of your head and then she and your cousin are gone with the wind. Brittany is dancing around the kitchen with Dante, singing the Itsy Bitsy Spider. The baby is giggling and grabbing at her hair, drool dripping from his chin.

"Can we go to the park, San?" Brittany asks you. You groan, hoping that you'd be able to just laze around the house. Dante had kept everyone up all night with his screaming and crying, and the night before last, and the nigh before last. You can't remember when you last had a good night's sleep.

Brittany is sending her best pout your way and you don't have a heart made of stone, so how can you possibly refuse? You sigh and nod, taking pride in the fact that the wide smile on Brittany's face is because of you.

"Just let me put some real pants on," you say. She bounds over and places the smallest of kisses on the corner of your mouth. Your face heats up and you practically sprint up the stairs and away from her. Your jump into a pair of sports shorts and decide that you should probably also change out of the ratty T-shirt you've got on, so you root through your drawers until you find a suitably casual yet also nice shirt.

The sun is hot and the breeze is cool, but you put on your aviators and fill a water bottle. Brittany seems to have gathered up Dante's things (the potato with eyes needs more than you do, his bag is almost five times as big as your purse) and gotten him in his stroller. You let her push the stroller to the park. As you're walking down Dudley road, you see that new girl again. She's sitting on her front porch reading. You nudge Britt and point.

"That's the new girl I was telling you about," you say. Brittany nods, and then hands control of the stroller over to you. You watch, unable to stop the potential crisis, as she jogs over to the new girl and smiles.

You know that smile. It's the smile she gave you on the first day you met. It's her 'let's be friends' smile. You groan as you watch them talk. The new girl nods at something Brittany says and you scowl when she pops into her house and Brittany turns around and gives you a huge smile and a double thumbs up.

All you can think is that this can't end well.

Brittany leads this girl over to you and you watch with your practiced bitch face. You size her up. She's short - maybe your height, but next to Britt she looks short. Her hair is blonde, dyed if you aren't mistaken, and she's got a perfectly symmetrical face. She's dainty and looks like every girl you see in the magazines.

"Quinn, this is Santana," Brittany introduces you. You force your mouth into what you think might be a smile, but you know it probably looks more like a grimace. Quinn smiles at you, a practiced one just like your own, but it's still undeniably beautiful.

"Hi Santana," she says, and her voice is just as light as you remember it being, "It's nice to finally be properly introduced. I hope we can forget about our first meeting."

(She almost sounds like she means it.)

(But you've never trusted bottle blondes.)

"Sure," you say with a guarded smile.

"Quinn is going to join us on our day out," Brittany informs you. You want to snap that, no, Quinn is _not_ going to join you because Brittany is _your_ best friend that _you_ haven't seen for over a week, not _Quinn's. _But you nod and grip the handlebar of Dante's stroller tightly so your knuckles go white.

"So, Santana, was that mohawked guy I saw you with your boyfriend?" Quinn asks you and already you think this bitch is too nosy for her own good.

"Yeah, that's Puck," you shrug. "He's okay."

"If he's only okay then why is he your boyfriend?"

You huff. "He gets me bling, he throws a mean party, he has access to booze and drugs, as well as a fear factor that will definitely help me not become a total Lima Loser in high school." You wonder why you just told Quinn the truth. You want to slap yourself.

"And he's got a big…y'know," Brittany volunteers. Quinn turns beet red and stares at the ground.

You laugh, "No he hasn't, Britt, don't be crazy. He's completely, painfully average and he's not even good at it."

Dante laughs right on cue.

"Oh," Brittany says, "but you told Claire that his _thing_ was like, five inches!"

Quinn coughs.

"Which is pretty average," you say, "and remember that Puck failed grade two so he's a year older than us?"

"How on earth do you fail grade two?" Quinn asked, seemingly recovered. Her face was still red though, so maybe she was only halfway there.

Brittany shrugs. "He spent more time in the principal's office than his classroom."

"So unless he grows more, I'm afraid that Noah Puckerman is nothing special," you conclude. Part of you almost feels bad for speaking so casually about how average your boyfriend is. It's not like he doesn't try - hell, he's such a try-hard that you think maybe you should give him some bonus points or something.

"Oh, Britt, that reminds me." You wait for her attention to turn from a passing bumblebee to you. When she finally looks at you, you say, "Puck wants to have a threesome with us."

You both burst out laughing at the same time. Quinn nearly faints.

"Oh my god," Brittany gasps through her laughter, "don't say things like that, you'll make me vomit!"

Quinn clutches her chest and you notice the cross that hangs from a chain. Something inside you twinges, something that feels a little like guilt. You have a similar necklace at home, in a velvet box underneath layers of socks. A twelfth birthday present from your _abuela_.

"Yeah, that's what I told him," you say, trying to wrap up the conversation before Quinn really does faint. "So, Quinn, where you from?"

"Uh, nowhere," she says evasively. You nod and don't push it. Eventually she'll break and spill the beans, but for now you can be patient.

"Are you going to Cheerios Boot Camp?" Brittany asks, her excitement open for anyone to see. To your surprise, Quinn nods and she actually looks excited, too.

"Yeah, I'm really looking forward to it," she admits quietly.

Brittany claps and throws an arm over Quinn's slight shoulders. "Stick with me and Santana," she invites the girl. "The three of us can be unstoppable."

(You'll never tell anyone, but your heart jumped at that idea.)

(Unstoppable is how you feel whenever you're with Brittany.)

Over the course of the week, Brittany forces you to hang out with her and Quinn. She takes you to the pool, to the park, you get to go over and meet her new kitten, Lord Tubbington. You had no idea a kitten could be so morbidly obese. This cat is huge. Like, absolutely massive – when Brittany picks him up you can see her arm muscles working to keep him aloft.

(Not that you were checking out her arms.)

Quinn invites you both over to her house. It's huge, and just how you expected it to be – impersonal. There aren't any photos of the family hanging on the walls, everything looks new and unused. With a start, you realise that it looks like your house. It has the same detached atmosphere, the feeling that no one could be bothered to make it feel like home.

Mr. and Mrs. Fabray are blonde and probably the most stereotypical WASP parents you have ever laid eyes on and that's saying something because you live in Lima where WASP is basically the accepted norm. Mr. Fabray shakes your hand firmly and you wish you were imagining the judgement in his eyes as he looks you over. You hate people like him. Rich old white guys with a misplaced sense of moral high ground because they're paler than freshly fallen snow or their daddies went to Yale. His smile is forced and tight, but it warms and loosens as he embraces Brittany's hand. Mrs. Fabray stands to his left, a little behind him. Another reason to hate the guy.

Quinn takes you up to her room. It's not as horrifying as you had thought it would be. Granted, too many things are pink, and her bed looks like something Strawberry Shortcake would own, but the best of it is somewhat tastefully decorated. In a very Anglican way. The portrait of Jesus above her bed makes your stomach twist slightly. He looks passive and you're reminded of all the figurines and images in His name at your _abuela'_s house, of how you would all bow your heads as she led you in a prayer of thanks before every meal.

The afternoon spent at Quinn's ends before dinner, as she says that her mom didn't have enough time to prepare a proper meal for guests. You don't really care. Quinn's house is starting to give you the creeps with all the Jesus paraphernalia.

Brittany takes you to her house where there's noise and pictures and you don't feel like an alien because your hair is black and your skin isn't ivory. Where Mrs. P hugs you and hands you a freshly backed cookie and Lily clings to Brittany's legs like a baby monkey. Where you can see Mr. P out in the greenhouse in the backyard and Riley is kicking a soccer ball against the fence; where Audrey floats by you with her nose in a book titled _How to Survive a Lawn Gnome Attack._ It's refreshing to find a house that is lived in, that almost bursts with life, like there just isn't enough house to actually contain everything magical that happens inside think of Quinn's house, of your own broken home, and you wonder how it ever came to this.

Later that night, as you're curled up beside Brittany on her bed and she kisses you softly and slowly, you realise that it always had to come to this.

(Because nothing can ever make you feel complete.)

(Not like she can.)

Cheer camp is the earthly version of hell.

Every bone in your body aches.

Your legs shouldn't stretch like that but they do, and _dios mio_ that bruise is bigger than a grapefruit.

The days start at six AM. You wake up, have a protein shake breakfast, then you hit the field for cardio training. Wind sprints, endurance jogs, aerobics, jumping jacks, burpees. Two hours later you have a brief water break. Next, dance. Four gruelling hours of dance training. The four hours would be absolute hell if it weren't for the smile that graces Brittany's face for the entire time. Lunch, then you hit the gym. Strength training is horrible. You haven't been able to sit comfortably since the first day you got here, and you've barely been able to lift your food to your mouth.

The last day of camp is even more terrifying than the previous days. Sue Sylvester comes to the camp personally and puts you through a ridiculous routine that ends with six girls being tossed around in a figure eight motion. You're selected to be one of those girls and you thank anyone that might be watching over you when you aren't dropped on your face.

Sylvester spends the whole time screaming at the camp squad through her stupid fucking bullhorn. Calling you sloppy, calling you babies, calling you every possible name that exists in the English language. By the end of the day you just want to curl up in a hole and die. But you follow the example of the returning Cheerios and stand tall, your chin tilted defiantly and your eyes refusing to leave the intimidating blonde woman in front of you.

(You hope that Brittany is following your lead.)

(You notice Quinn is doing the same thing you are, except somehow she doesn't look like a bitch. She just looks in charge.)

Sylvester informs you that she will be posting the team on the first day of school. She tells you that she's had cameras hidden everywhere in the camp and has been watching all of you. Some of the girls glance about worriedly. You'd heard about the idiots who thought that it was a good idea to sneak a smoke behind a cabin.

Dumbasses.

You leave cheer camp with some new mantras.

One: Never trust a cheerleader.

Two: Celery gets stuck in all kinds of places you didn't even know your mouth had.

Three: Brittany's legs must have been made to stretch in ungodly fashions.

And four: Quinn Fabray isn't the innocent schoolgirl you thought she was.

It had been kind of a huge shock to you when you had seen Quinn parading around with the returning seniors, laughing with them and almost fucking leading their pack. You and the other freshmen are forced to sit at the back of the dining hall, the farthest away from the food, while Quinn Fabitch is sitting right up at the front. Eating the freshest greens, the coldest water, and sitting with the coolest people.

Brittany tries to calm you down one night as you lay in your tent with her, seething about how Quinn is just such a conniving bitch and how you'd thought she'd actually wanted to be your friend. You don't know why this betrayal hurts so much; you never really liked the stupid bitch anyways.

Your first day back from cheer camp is spent with your father. He took a day off of work for the first time in forever, and he wants to spend it with you. It doesn't matter that he's on his phone the whole time you're at the drive-in, or that he gets your order wrong when he relays it to the waitress. He's here, with you, and that means more to you than you'd ever admit.

"Santana, I want to talk to you about something," he says over your split chocolate sundae. You look up eagerly. His face is stern and serious, the only expression you've seen him wear for a long time.

"Sure," you say.

"I want you to go live with your _abuela_ for this year," he says and it hits you like a fucking sledgehammer to the face. You feel tears begin to well up but you blink them back and you swallow the knot in your throat. "I feel that you need to be reminded of your roots, and to rekindle your faith. Brittany is a nice girl, I do not want you to think that I believe otherwise, but she is a _paganas_. You must not forget that He sees everything, and you must pay Him the due respect for the life He has given you."

You feel violently ill, and suddenly the ice cream in front of you isn't something telling you how much your father loves you. It's his way of soothing you, the way one would calm a frightened animal with food, luring it so it felt safe and then drawing it right into a trap.

"This is not because your _mami_ and I do not love you," he continues. "Do not let yourself think that, _por favor._"

You push down the screaming child within you and nod curtly, like you understand how someone could dump his or her own child on another person and be okay with it.

"Uh, _si, papi_," you say in a voice so subdued you barely recognise it as yours. "When do I move in?"

"We will go home and get your bags ready to leave tomorrow morning," he tells you, and it sounds like a business deal. Like he's telling a patient about their surgery, 'Oh, we will just be slicing you open and removing your heart and lungs for a few hours, there's no need to be alarmed, have a nice night.'

Your _mami_ helps you pack. She eyes some of your clothes with disdain, but she never tells you that you can't take something. You pack a few pictures, ones of you and Britt, and you make sure that your mother doesn't see the cigarettes you throw in. You text Brittany the next morning before you leave.

_To: BrittBritt (8:37 AM)_

_Shipped off to abuelas. C u tmr at school._

Your _abuela_ moved into a house in Lima Heights Adjacent. There's a smaller chance of armed robbery, but you know for a fact that the Adjacent part of the Heights is almost as bad as the Heights itself. You've been living in the comfort of almost-Dudley-road for long enough that the idea of the Heights is enough to scare the shit out of you. You still remember that night that Juan came home with the gunshot wound.

You also remember his funeral.

Your _abuela_ hugs you tightly and you feel your back crack. She scolds you for being so skinny and immediately starts cooking you a huge breakfast. You try to tell her you aren't hungry but she makes some tsk-ing noise with her tongue and that ends that conversation. You force yourself to eat the heaping plate she sets in front of you, even if you feel like you're going to vomit at any second. You feel abandoned, totally unwanted, and like overall shit.

"Santanita, you are so quiet," she says to you. You're surprised she isn't speaking to you in Spanish, but maybe everyone is making concessions for other people's happiness these days. "What's going on in that head of yours?"

You've always been cautious around your _abuela. _You'd watched her go off at so many members of your family that you're basically a skittish animal around her. "I'm just tired," you say.

"Tired of what, _nieta_?" She asks. Your eyes widen in surprise.

"Uh, I guess of just feeling like they don't care about me," you mumble, embarrassed at the vulnerability in your words. It's childish and ridiculous, but your throat clenches a little and all you can think of wanting is Brittany, because she's the only one who's ever tried to understand when you cry.

_Abuela_ gets up and pulls her chair beside yours. She places a hand on you cheek and fixes you with her gaze. It pierces through your armour and nicks your heart. It's like she wants to understand.

"_No es un pecado para estar triste,_" she says softly. You sniff and nod. She hugs you as best she can from her seat, and you breathe in the familiar smell – her perfume, the must of the house, and spices from the kitchen. And somehow, you think that maybe, just maybe, she does understand.

* * *

**A/N: Whew. Not my favourite. But, hey. C'est la vie. **

**Thanks to the people who favourited and followed and my one reviewer, you kick serious butt!**

**Until the next time,**

**-breezered.**


	6. Chapter V

_Our attitude towards others determines their attitude towards us.  
- Earl Nightingale_

* * *

_Welcome to William McKinley High School!_

That's what all the banners say. Personally, you think it's a load of horseshit that you have to be welcomed at all, because everyone knows what happens to the freshmen.

Swirlies. Stuffed in lockers. Tossed in dumpsters. Port-a-potty tipped. Slushied.

You've only been in high school for five minutes and you already think it's bogus.

On the plus side, you're being fitted for Cheerios uniforms and instructed on how to properly tie a high pony. Essential skill, you're sure, but the bitch in front of you is giving your black hair the dirtiest look possible. You, Quinn, and Brittany all made it onto the Cheerios together, along with Zoey Keats and Julia Crawford. Both of them are blonde and white, so you feel even more out of place than you normally do. Brittany is rocking back and forth on the balls of her feet, her excitement manifesting physically in the form of her uncontrollable smile.

When the bitch in front of you is finished her speech, she goes and asks for each of your names.

"Santana Lopez," you say, hoping your voice is every bit as defiant as you feel. You couldn't give a single shit about whether or not this bitch likes you, no matter what uniform she's wearing.

When she gets Brittany's name you're reminded of one of those super gay sorority films, where there's that legacy girl and everyone just gushes about her.

"Oh my god, no way! You're Kennedy Pierce's little sister? She was, like, the coolest captain ever! Oh I can totally see the resemblance now, you look like her!"

Brittany blushes at the extra attention.

(You see now why Audrey never joined the Cheerios.)

By the time first period starts, you're in your new uniform and you feel like a celebrity. People clear room for you in the halls when you walk, they stare at you, and for once the stares don't say 'what's the Mexican doing here' they just say 'look out it's a Cheerio' and you feel like you could rule the world with the power this uniform grants you.

And even though your body hates you a week later when all you're eating are protein shakes and something called the Master Cleanse, and every muscle is shouting at you for being so horrible and exercising so much, you wouldn't change a thing.

Sue Sylvester gets you whatever you want as long as you're good. And when you're paired with Brittany for every number, how could you not be perfect.

You notice a month in that Britt seems exhausted. She goes from class to class in a daze, taking naps during Spanish and eating carrots all through geography. After Cheerios, you'll go back to her house and before you have a chance to talk to her, she's passed out on the couch, the bed, at the table.

You talk to Mr. P about it. He promises to do something about it, but a week later she still seems like a quarter of Brittany.

One Friday night, after the Titans lose yet another football game, you brush Puck off and take Brittany to your _abuela_'s house. She and Brittany have only met a few times, but how could anyone not love Britt. _Abuela _makes you a meal fit for a king, and even though you know Sue Sylvester would kill you if she saw any of this go in your mouth, you eat it and force Brittany to as well. You take her up to your temporary bedroom, and toss her some sweats and a T-shirt. She changes while you have a quick shower. When you get back to your room, she's lying on your bed, typing away on her phone.

"Who are you texting?" You ask.

"Mike." You nod. You like Mike, you trust Mike with Brittany. Besides, Brittany really needs to get her game on. The older Cheerios have already given you the lecture on why you need a football guy to go out with occasionally.

"What's he doing?"

"I'm giving him advice on his next showcase routine," she tells you, "he's trying to incorporate a monkey flip with a barrel turn immediately after, but the entire centre of balance will have to shift in order for him to even get a good spin out of a monkey flip."

You're lost, but you just nod. You scoot her over so you can lie down beside her. She's radiating body heat and your shirt has ridden up to expose her stomach. You feel a rush of heat, and you hold your hand back from stroking the exposed skin. She puts the phone down and flips onto her side to look at you. You glance at her and wish that you still had your queen sized bed instead of the single, because she's so close and there's nowhere you can go.

"Does sex hurt?" She asks out of the blue.

You pause. "Uh, I guess it does. I dunno, the first time yeah, but if you're drunk like I was you barely even notice."

"So I should get drunk and have sex?" She clarifies. You cringe.

"No, god B," you shake your head at her. "Just do it with someone that you care about, alright? Like, Puck was my first and I cared-care about him. So it didn't matter that it hurt. And you probably won't have an orgasm the first time, because guys finish fast and then they're all tired and they just pass out."

Brittany bites her lip and leans forward, planting a kiss on the corner of your mouth. Your heart skips a beat.

"I care about you, Santana," she says quietly, like she doesn't really want you to hear it.

You swallow nervously.

"And I'm scared that a guy is just gonna ignore my feelings, and then it's gonna suck," she says, "and I want it to not suck, you know?"

(You know, you know, you know.)

(But you wish you didn't.)

"Can I…can we…" She trails off. You take a shaky breath and roll to face her. You put your hand on her cheek and your thumb strokes her skin.

"Yeah," you mumble. "We can."

Kissing her isn't new, but tonight it feels like the first time all over again. It's gentle and warm and wet, and she caresses your lips with hers, leading you in the most intimate dance you've ever performed. Her tongue swipes your lips, you open your mouth and you know there's no place you'd rather be. Hands roam cautiously, never too low or too high, but you slip yours under her shirt and feel her muscles twitch under your touch.

Everything happens too slowly and all too fast. By the end of it you're panting and feeling satisfaction beyond anything you've ever known before. Brittany curls up against you and she mumbles, "I love you."

You don't say it back, because your chest is too tight and your head is telling you to feel ashamed. Your heart aches and every muscle in your body is urging you to do something, to not leave her in the lurch, but you can't say anything.

Everything just fucking hurts.

* * *

The next morning you leave Brittany asleep and sit in the kitchen as your _abuela_ prepares breakfast.

"_Buenos d__í__as, nietita,"_ she greets you. _"¿Cómo dormiste?"_ You shrug and lay your head down on your arms. You're exhausted, your head feels like it's going to explode, and the cross on your _abuela_'s necklace is taunting you.

"_Bien_," you answer. "Brittany probably won't be up for a while, she's been pretty tired recently."

Just as the words leave your mouth, Brittany comes bouncing into the kitchen and sits beside you. She smiles at you and you try to smile back but your mouth isn't working and you feel like you're grimacing painfully and you don't want to scare her so you just stop trying.

It doesn't help that after that she looks like a kicked puppy.

"Brittany, _buenos d__í__as,"_ your _abuela_ greets her.

"Hola," she replies. "I hate to rush out but I've got a rehearsal for dance in an hour so my mom is coming by to pick me up in, like, ten minutes."

You nod, letting her know you've acknowledged her, but hoping to maintain a certain level of aloofness. She eats the food your _abuela_ puts in front of her and then heads out when she hears the car horn. She looks like she wants to hug you, but your tense back and obvious avoidance of her gaze are enough to ward her off.

It takes you no more than two hours to realise that you're being an asshole.

_To: BrittBritt (12:45 PM)_

_Im sorry. Im an ass, 4give me? Xox_

The next day she invites you over and when you get there, she presents you with an ultimatum.

"I'm mad at you," she says as you sit in her basement. "I'm really mad, but I think I'm more sad than I am mad. So, you have a choice. Either I stay mad and sad until it wears off, or you watch all three Lord of the Rings movies with me right now and I'll forgive you because you did something with me that I wanted to do."

You sigh. You've avoided watching Lord of the Rings because you _know_ how good they're supposed to be and you_ know _you have an addictive personality.

But this is for Brittany, and you would do anything for her.

After the first movie you already hate Frodo. He's impossibly annoying, and _so fucking gay_. Come on, how is no one concerned by the excruciatingly obvious and painful sexual tension between him and Samwise Gamgee?

Brittany is totally excited by the prospect of the next movie, and she rushes upstairs to make popcorn before she puts it in the DVD player. She cuddles up to your side and you brace yourself for another long movie of people walking. _Gracias a Dios_ this one has slightly more action than the last. You still think Frodo is a little bitch, and if anything he just gets worse as time goes on, but at least the action is starting to pick up.

At the end of the second movie, you realise its almost time for you to leave. It's hard to pull yourself from Brittany's grip and she pout when you walk out the front door, but she isn't mad at you anymore. You can tell because she hugs you so tightly that you think your back might break. You breathe in her shampoo and soap, and you go home with little wings on your heart.

You're on your way home when they show up. You barely recognise them, it's been years since you've seen any of them. But José Bautista still has the same prominent ears and too-small eyes. You think the guys with him are Filipe García and Luca Valentino; they look enough like trolls to make you think they're those guys.

José calls out at you. "Hey _chica_! Where you going by yourself? Need a man to walk you home?"

You roll your eyes and keep walking, hoping ignoring them will make them go away.

"Come on, don't be so cold,_ rorra_," he calls after you again. You're vividly reminded that he's only fifteen when you turn around and realise he's no taller or bigger than you. Unfortunately Filipe is three years your senior and built like the rock of Gibraltar. He's looking at you with hungry eyes and it's that sign that gets you almost jogging away from them. They follow you and catcall after you all the way back to your _abuela_'s. It's only one you're safely inside that you can relax, and the smell of your _abuela_'s salsa wafting from the kitchen helps slow your heart rate.

(It smells like childhood and something that could almost be called home if it wasn't so crappy.)

(Everything feels crappy to you.)

* * *

The following weekend you go to your other home and visit with your mother. She seems stressed out, but you're having trouble figuring out why the _fuck _she is stressed out, she isn't the one who was abandoned and left at their grandmother's house the day before she starts high school, which is potentially the scariest day of a persons' life.

You're telling her about what school's like, how Cheerios is hard but you still enjoy it, even with the endless stream of insults that comes from Coach's bullhorn. It's when you get to describing your AP math class that you realise she isn't listening. Her phone is in her hands, and she's running a hand through her hair.

"But it's fine," you trail off. She nods, tapping away at the keys.

"_Bueno,_" she mutters.

You show yourself out and walk to Brittany's house, sniffing back the tears that threaten to fall. You feel like you've cried too much recently, like somehow that's a reason to stop the ebbing emotions and just say fuck it, you don't want to care anymore, but you know it doesn't work that way.

Mrs. P lets you inside, handing you a plate of cookies to take up with you to Brittany's room. You let yourself in, and the familiar sights meet you – the wallpaper, the pictures, Brittany. She's sprawled out on her bed holding a book above her face, you think it's Harry Potter. She looks over at you as you enter and her smile takes over her entire face.

"I could smell mom baking those," she says as she eyes the cookies. You give her a weak smile in return, and sit beside her on the bed, and the two of you each bite into a cookie. They're warm and gooey and perfect. You can feel her staring at the side of your face, but you stare resolutely at the ground. She doesn't speak, she knows you well, knows that eventually you'll crack and start talking. You watch her suck the sticky chocolate off her fingers, and you blush when she catches your eyes.

She bounces off the bed and floats her way over to the iPod speakers on her desk. She scrolls through her music and finally decides on a song.

Your favourite song.

The beat catches your foot and you can't stop from tapping your toes. Brittany turns to you dramatically and starts singing along, her voice loud and uninhibited.

_Well sometimes I go out by myself, and I look across the water._

She looks to you expectantly, her face urging you to sing with her, and her body's movements are making you itch to dance with her.

You shake your head, rolling your eyes as she mimes taking your picture, getting all up in your face and grabbing your hands. You let her pull you up and dance around you. The chorus swells into the next verse, and finally you let yourself stop worrying, you forget about being sad because she's there and she's dancing to your favourite song for you, so you open your mouth and sing.

_Did you have to go to jail, put your house all up for sale, did you get a good lawyer?_

Brittany smiles widely and twirls you, holding you and leading you in a mock-waltz across her bedroom, the two of you singing and dancing and laughing and just _feeling_ and you wish the song would never end, but it does. And when it does you look at her, both of you breathless and laughing, and you say, "My mom's a bitch." She shrugs and says, "We're al bitches," and that's that. The next song comes on and she lets go of you, dancing by herself. You sit back on her bed and eat another cookie as she spins and does a really good imitation of how Quinn dances, but of course Brittany makes it not look stupid. She can do anything.

You sing along to the songs you know, and eventually a slow song comes on, so Brittany stops her tireless dancing and lies back on her bed, pulling you down with her. She looks at you looking at her, and her lips quirk up in a soft smile.

"Puck is having a party Friday after the game," you tell her quietly.

"I know," she says. You know she knows. You just don't want her to say what she looks like she might say, because you can't deal with it right now. You've been attending your _abuela_'s church on Sundays since you moved in, and you've stopped knowing what to think of anything. But the words the of the priest in his clear Spanish ring loudly in your head, and the scornful remarks of your _abuela_ as you watched TV and there was an news report on gay marriage rights cause you to balk as Brittany touches a gentle but sure hand to your cheek.

"Britt," you sigh, your throat tight. She gives you sad eyes as you take her hand and lower it from your face. "Stop." She looks hurt, and if she feels at all like you do as you sit up and walk to her door, then you're pretty sure you deserve to go to Hell because you feel like jumping off a bridge, or curling up in the dark recesses of your closet and crying for days because you fuck everything up, you always do, it's impossible for you to have something good and not lose it.

"I'm sorry," she says to you. You stop at her door and clench your eyes shut. Why is she apologising, you're the shitty one in this situation. "I shouldn't have…done that, or anything. We can watch a movie?" She looks so hopeful, almost as desperate as you feel. "Please?"

The last word is almost a whisper. The idea of Brittany needing you just as much as you need her hits you for the first time. You nod, and swallow the ball of tears in your throat. Together you walk downstairs to the TV room in the basement. She chooses Balto. You sit on the armchair, and Brittany sits on the couch, right in the middle. You pull a blanket over yourself, tucking your feet underneath your body. You sit and watch the entire movie in silence, and it's only when the credits roll that you notice Brittany is crying. You look at your hands and stand up.

You sit beside her, and place your hand on her arm. "B, the movie isn't sad," you say gently, "what's wrong?"

"I'm so tired, Santana," she says, her crying evolving into sobs. "I'm so tired. I'm always dancing, or cheering, or partying, or trying to do my _fucking _homework that I can't do because I'm so _fucking stupid_ and no one cares!" You're shocked. You knew she was busy; Brittany's always been that person who did everything, who never wanted to stop or slow down. And you kind of knew she was having trouble at school, it's hard not to notice when you're in three classes with her and in each one except AP math she's been copying your work half-heartedly. "And it's so stupid, because it's only the first month, and I've got four more years that are only going to get harder and I'm never going to stop being stupid."

You're at a loss for words. Brittany is supposed to be the positive one, you're the one with issues, and she's the one who has to sort you out, ever since you've met her that's how it's worked and it's been perfect. But now she's hurt, or she's messed up and how the fuck are you supposed to help.

"And I'm so sorry," she says through her hands and her sobs. Every time she apologises, something stabs you in the chest, maybe something like guilt or hurt, or disappointment in yourself. "I always mess things up, you can't even look at me anymore and it's all my _fault._"

You struggle with yourself for a minute before you lift her chin and kiss her. You can taste her tears and her sadness, mingling with your own disappointment in yourself and there are so many emotions inside of you that bubble to your lips and leave through the kiss. It's rough and gentle, and your tongue slips against her lips, then hits her teeth and then it's sliding against her tongue. Her lips taste more like her lip balm now rather than the saltiness of her tears, and the sigh that escapes her mouth and runs into yours urges you on, pressing her down on the couch. Your legs straddle her hips and your hands find support on the arm of the couch. She grips your waist with her pale hands, and pulls you down onto her. She's warm and each time she arches her back so her front presses into you, you have to hold back a moan.

You pull back like she's on fire when you hear Audrey's voice call down the stairs, "B! Dinner!" You practically fly off the couch and land on the floor. Brittany sits up and you tear your eyes away from her heaving chest and her swollen lips, dark eyes and messy hair. She takes a deep breath and stands up.

"Do you want to stay for dinner?"

Your feet are itching to get out of there, to forget it ever happened, to establish some sort of fucking boundary, but you nod because hadn't she just been crying about you being distant and bitchy? Mrs. P made macaroni and cheese in a casserole dish large enough to feed an entire battalion.

It tastes perfect.

* * *

You watch Britt with careful eyes all week. She looks tired, and when Sue yells at her for being one sixteenth of a seventh step out of sync with the rest of the squad, you watch her bottom lip tremble and you've never been so thankful to Quinn when she steps forward and tells Sue that it isn't Brittany's fault that Shayla can't dance and how is Brittany supposed to do the routine properly when a senior is standing in front of her and messing things up.

Sue moves Brittany to the front of the formation. Brittany almost looks more upset about that than about the yelling.

During Spanish class she sits in the back so you obviously go and sit with her, and she puts her head down on her desk and falls asleep. You fill out your worksheet and hers to hand in at the end of class. You wake her up to go to AP math. She stares blankly at the board as your teacher explains some formula or another. You can't focus on anything because Brittany looks horrible, like someone who hasn't slept properly in days, or someone who just doesn't care enough to try.

It worries you enough that you find Audrey at lunch and talk to her about it. You find her in the library, as expected. She listens and thanks you, but you forget that she isn't Kennedy Pierce, that her mind isn't on earth with everyone else, that it stays somewhere where words are made and no one else can reach. You pull out your cell phone and call Kennedy, needing someone to listen and to care, for you and for Brittany because you're worried and scared.

It rings until the answering machine comes up.

_Hey, you've reached Kennedy Pierce's phone! I'm either still asleep, at class, or avoiding your calls, so leave me a message and I'll see if I get back to you!_

You hang up. You go to class.

You go to your _abuela_'s house. You do your homework, eat dinner, go on Facebook, text Puck, get a call from Quinn, and then you have a shower and go to bed.

By the time Friday comes around and you, Brittany, and Quinn are in your room getting ready for Puck's party, Brittany might as well be sleepwalking. You straighten her hair and apply her makeup. She gets dressed in her short blue dress and heels, while you step into tight black pants and a black lace top, your feet clad in your favourite ankle boots with the heels that make you almost as tall as Brittany. Quinn of course looks like the innocent schoolgirl everyone would think she were if they didn't know better. Her hair is curled perfectly into loose waves that frame her delicate face.

The party is the same as any other, except that it isn't. You watch Quinn flirt bashfully with Finn, and it would be disgusting if you weren't so busy laughing at the fact that _Finn_ is being flirted with. The music is pumping loud and the bass is heavy in your chest, but Brittany isn't dancing, she's sitting on the kitchen counter sipping her drink while you let Puck dote on you and kiss your neck. Brittany keeps giving you looks that let you know how gross she finds the whole thing. Having her blue cat eyes pierce yours isn't helping you enjoy Puck's sloppy mouth, so you close your eyes but that just makes it worse. You push him away and grab Brittany's hand, leading her to the dance floor. You put your hands on her hips and start moving your body to the beat. She moves with you half-heartedly, her hands finding their place on your ribcage. She pulls you up against her and rests her head in the crook of your shoulder. Her hot breath hits your skin and sends jolts through your skin.

It isn't until you hear someone behind you say, "Kiss her," into your ear that you remember where you are. You look around you and see the boys with their hungry eyes and eager hands and the thought of them being on Brittany makes you want to vomit, so you do al that you can to keep them away from her for as long as possible. You guide her face to be equal to yours, and you kiss her.

Her hands grip you again, like she's scared you'll run away.

You kiss her until you can't breathe.

(She takes your breath away.)

(She complicates breathing.)

When you wake up the next morning in Puck's bed with Brittany, you're thankful that you didn't wake up with Puck. You know you shouldn't feel relieved that you woke up in your boyfriend's bed without your boyfriend. Oops. You only panic slightly when you realise you've lost your pants. You locate them across the room. Brittany seems to have lost her dress, and you can't find it in the room, which worries you. With shaking hands, you wake her up.

"Britt," you say quietly as she comes around, "where's your dress?"

She shrugs. "Probably wherever I had sex with Chris last night. I think it might have been the bathroom, but I can't be sure."

Okay, so maybe you failed a bit in keeping her away from hungry eyes and eager hands.

"What the fuck did I drink last night," you mumble. She points to the empty bottle of Jaeger on the bedside table. "I drank all of that? Christ, how am I not dead?"

"Well, I had some too, which is probably why I had sex with Chris," she explains. "You know, these football guys all say they're packing but seriously. I saw Chris and Nick naked last night but neither of them were all that impressive."

Your head is spinning and you almost puke when you stand up to grab your pants. You decide they're too tight, so you grab some of Puck's basketball shorts and throw them at Brittany, while you pull on a pair of sweatpants. You roll up the waistband.

Brittany finds a shirt in his closet and pulls it on. She looks sloppy and she walks with an obvious soreness. Puck seems sober enough so you ask him to drive you both home. He drops Britt off first, and she leaves you both with kisses pressed to your cheeks. When he drops you off, you thank him and kiss him swiftly. Before you get out of the car, he grabs your wrist.

"I slept with someone last night," he says. "I think you saw but you were so drunk, and I can't keep it a secret." Your heart is aching; you can't handle this much betrayal in one morning.

"Who was it?" You ask. You don't really want to know, but you have to know.

"Taylor," he says, "the junior Cheerio."

Monday at Cheerios, you make sure she falls from the pyramid. And that it looks like her own damn fault.

Stupid bitch.

You don't break up with Puck, but you let him know that if he's going to cheat on you, you're sure as hell going to cheat on him.

* * *

By Christmas vacation you've had sex with four guys a total of ten times.

Puck gives you a baggie of spliff for Christmas and just like that all is forgiven.

Brittany goes up to visit her grandparents in Canada for Christmas. It's one of the Pierce traditions – the entire Pierce clan makes the trek up to America's hat every three years for the festivities.

You spend your Christmas Eve at the Midnight Mass with your _abuela_ and the remaining Lopez clan. You all retreat back to _abuela_'s house and you listen to the story of your cousin Jorje who is serving twelve years for carjacking, and you listen to your father talk about his upcoming clinical trial that has to do with speech recovery or something. You watch Venturo play with Dante, and you don't miss the gun he has tucked into his waistband. Your _tía _Ramona is watching him disdainfully and Bernardo is out back with Tulla smoking. Your mother chats tersely with _tíos _Carlos and Hernán about the ever-rising political unrest in South America. Your mother's family lives in Puerto Rico still, you know she's been worried about them, but the amount of times you've met them is insignificant to you. Sometimes you forget that she has her own family because she rarely talks about them or visits. It's a surprise to everyone when your _tío_ Alessandro shows up with his current girlfriend Esperanza and she's sporting a huge baby bump. She's probably closer in age to you than to your uncle, but she's smiling and he looks happy for the first time ever so you bite your tongue and hold back any scathing remarks that are urging to surface.

Later, after everyone has finally left and you've retreated to your bedroom, you open your window and watch the snow fall delicately as you enjoy some of the weed Puck gave you. Brittany can't text you because she's in a different fucking country, Puck is probably fucking someone's mom, and Quinn probably went to bed with a big old smile like she's Cindy Lou Who. You pull out the wrapped gift you meant to give to Britt before she left, and look at it sceptically. You chickened out of giving it to her. But you have to eventually; you told her you'd gotten her something. She gave you your present though, and you stare it down just as firmly. The dancing Santa Claus figures make you puke up a bit of metaphorical Christmas spirit and you carefully peel away the paper that you can tell has been so carefully applied.

There's a handmade card with a drawing of Lord Tubbington on the front. He has a speech bubble that says, "Merry Christmas to our favourite brunette!" and he's wearing a stupid Santa hat. The inside is a picture of you and Brittany from way way back; you look around eleven years old. She's got you on her back and you're wearing a cowboy hat. The exact situation in which this picture was taken eludes you, but something tells you that you probably don't want to know. Anything involving a cowboy hat tends to make you feel a little weird.

The bed creaks as you shift; your foot feels numb. You look at the actual gift that she's given you. It's a boxed set of all the Star Wars movies. There's a sticky note on top of it that simply says, "Watch it, S. You know you want to."

So you watch it. You watch all of them three times over by New Year's Eve.

(Even from fucking _Canada_ she still has control over you.)

(You love the movies. You love them simply because you know she does.)

When Christmas break ends and you see Brittany, you give her the gift and she lights up like the sun and insists she wear it immediately. So you fasten the bracelet around her slim wrist and show her your matching one.

She kisses you on the cheek in front of God and everyone and you don't give a shit because she's so fucking happy and perfect. And somehow that kind of makes you feel happy and maybe just a little bit perfect, too.

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**A/N: A huge thank you to the amazing reviewers that reviewed and literally had me smiling for hours after I got their reviews! Shout out to the people who followed and favourited, and to anyone who has been reading even if they haven't been leaving me a trail of bread-crumbs to follow them by.**

**If anyone has any questions, concerns, comments, poems, haikus, I would be more than happy to hear them.**

**-breezered.**


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